A World Without Superman: Reworked!
by Metropolis Kid
Summary: This is a 'movie-verse' retelling of the World Without Superman and Superman Returns comic arcs, as mostly seen through the eyes of Superman's son. It also contains crossover material from: DC; TSCC-AU; and Hellsing. Co-written with Chris St. Thomas.
1. Chapter 1: A New School

**Prologue:**

The machine thrust its arms out into its opponent's chest and gut, the force of the impact driving the latter back. His body spun as part of it slammed against the far wall, chipping loose paint and concrete. Before the teen had a chance to recover, the machine was on him again, lifting him high into the air and then slamming him back down into the tile of the school floor.

The machine didn't know where its new found enemy had come from. It knew that the kid wasn't human though, despite his appearance. No human could've survived such punishment. And no human on record possessed both the speed and strength the machine had seen this teen display during their duel. But the machine did know one thing. Its enemy, though obviously not human, was an organic nonetheless, an inferior life form, to be utilized... or crushed, depending on the circumstances. The machine lifted its enemy once more and flung him down the hallway.

The kid was quite resilient. His body smashed the lockers at the far end of the hall, and he coughed out spit mixed with blood, but still he rose to his feet yet again. The teen still had an ace in the whole. The machine's strength may have more than made up for the kid's speed, but he still trusted in his regenerative capabilities to tip the scales in his favor. His internal bleeding had already ceased, and his bruised bones had mended. The machine, on the other hand, could not regenerate; it bore every scare, every dent, every mark of their ongoing battle. No, the machine could only be repaired, and the longer the battle lasted, the more the kid knew that this fact would tip the odds in his favor. He charged again.

The machine yanked a piece of copper piping from one of the damaged walls, and sparks flew as the wires that ran through it wire ripped apart. The lights in that area of the school flickered, went out, and then the backup systems came online and the whole scene became painted in a dull orange glow. The machine stood ready to swing at its charging opponent, like a batter at a pitcher's fast ball.

But the kid just grinned and used his greater speed to out maneuver his enemy. He shifted his running so that he was moving at an angle, instead of directly towards his target. Then, without breaking his stride, the teen stepped from the floor to the wall.

The machine noticed the change in position too late and missed its opportunity to strike. The kid managed to reach it, and pushed off of the wall. In midair, he twisted and nailed the machine with a roundhouse kick, the force knocking the machine down.

The machines knew that its true target and his protector unit were long gone; and it realized, perhaps too late, that the battle was turning. The kid, who'd initially been nothing more than a distraction, was slowly but surely starting to gain ground. The machine was both stronger and more durable than its opponent. However, the kid's regenerative ability was proving more and more of a problem.

The machine did make note of the fact that its enemy was not regenerating quite as quickly as he had been when the battle started, and that meant that it still had a chance at victory: but only if it could cause enough damage to quickly drain whatever reserve was responsible for mending its enemy's broken bones and turn flesh.

The kid tried to pin the downed machine, but this proved unsuccessful, as the machine managed to roll over and grab the kid while he was still in the air and unable to dodge. The machine rolled again, placing the teen beneath it and began repeatedly punch the kid's face. Blood spurted and gushed as the teen's face gradual took on an appearance of akin to that of raw hamburg. Blood coated the machine's fist, which continued to ram into the teens face with the indifferent precision of a piston, and the machine knew that if it could keep up this level of punishment, its enemy's regenerate abilities must surely give out and he would die.

In truth, the machine cared little about this enemy's death. He was an anomaly, a distraction, and his death would be insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Only the fate of the machine's true target really mattered. But this teen had proven an obstacle to the elimination of said target, and as such, he had to be neutralized. Dead, he could cause no further interference. And thus, the machine sought the destruction of its current opponent as nothing more than an event that would bring it one step closer to its ultimate goal.

The kid's hand reached feebly out to the side, but the machine paid its enemy's near death throws little head as it mercilessly continued its pounding. Little did it know that that oversight would prove its undoing and change the course of history forever.

For it was not without cause that the teen reached out. It was not for nothing that it groped in the dark. That same piece of copper that the machine had wielded scares seconds ago was still there. And as the kid's hand closed around the copper piping, he found his life in the cold, hard metal.

The teen's hand flew up with as much force as he could muster, jamming the copper piping into the neck of the machine, piercing the unit's protective armor at its thinnest point and temporarily shorting out its systems. The machine rerouted to its secondary systems as quickly as possible, but the teen was able to use this lull to slither out from under it. He grabs the two ends of the metal protruding from the machine's neck and began twisting back and forth. Straining as hard as he could, and grunting from the exertion, the kid's efforts were finally rewarded as the machines cranium detached from its torso.

As the machine's optics stared vacantly at its detached body it made a desperate attempt to access the body's remote motor functionality. But the attempt was unsuccessful. The body's remote receiver was too heavily damaged. And as the teen turned the severed head to star into its cold, calculating, red eyes, the machine realized that it had failed... for now.

* * *

**Chapter 1: A New School**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any material contained within this story. All copyrighted content remains the property of the person, people, or organization that holds the copyright. This story is solely for fun.

**AN****: **Okay, I started this story more than three years ago as a writing experiment. And five chapters in I picked up a co-writer - Chris St. Thomas - who's been a great help, especially with all the expanded DC universe stuff (I mostly just follow the 'Super Family' stories). But, I'd like to think that I've learned a few new tricks and refined my writing a little over the last three years. So, I've decided to break this story down and begin reworking it from top to bottom... er, make that bottom to top. ;P Chris has also expressed dissatisfaction with a few aspects of the story, and will likely be assisting me in some of these rewrites as well. Our goal is to give you, the readers, a smoother, more engaging and entertaining story to enjoy, and I sincerely hope that we succeed in that goal.

**Backstory****:** I've set Superman Returns in 1997. This takes place in 2007. Lois and Jason have been traumatized by Superman's death after his battle with Doomsday. Richard has moved his family west, hoping it will help them cope. Jason's powers are currently set right around 'golden age' levels. That means no flying, freeze breath, heat vision, or x-ray vision, and his maximum lifting strength is about 10,000 pounds (5 tons). If you've watched the movies, were Superman's lifting continents and moving moons, this may seem a little weak. However, please keep in mind that Jason's only fifteen and half human. For the TSCC elements, only episodes up to and including "Vick's Chip" are considered 'canon' (at least as far as this story goes). Everything after that point is 'in flux' (as Doctor Who might say), and thus AU from the established TSCC timeline.

* * *

Jason stepped off the bus and shrugged his backpack further up is shoulder. He looked up into the cloud covered sky and sighed. The clouds were already darkening and it was obvious that it was going to rain today. And Jason hated rainy days. Well, a lot of people did. But Jason's dislike ran deeper than most peoples. His Kryptonian blood, his alien cells drew power from the sun. But as a half-breed, his body didn't store that energy as efficiently as his father's. Thus a rainy day meant a weaker Jason. It wasn't a great difference of course, just enough to make him feel a tiny bit more tired and a just a hair more sluggish than normal, not exactly the best mood for one's first day at a new school.

Jason felt the throng of the other students moving past him, pushing and bumping into him unintentionally as they passed, friends and young lovers all chitchatting about the events going on within their own social structures. There was no malicious intent, no deliberate shoving. He was the new kid, and had done nothing to garner attention, good or bad. He was tall for his age, but not terribly so. He was a little border than most, but his bulky jacket covered that up, nothing to attract attention. And even one passed him by as they continued with their own lives. And for the day, that was exactly what Jason wanted.

Other kids might've been concerned about making friends and creating an image on their first day of school. But this was a solemn day for Jason, the one month anniversary of his father's death. And all Jason wanted this day was to be alone with his thoughts... and his memories. He didn't want to be popular or make a good first impression. All he wanted was to keep his head down and get through this first day as unnoticed as possible. The rest... well, the rest could wait until tomorrow.

He remembered the day it had happened. The sky had seemed abnormally red that morning, as if tinged with blood, the morning a mining crew in the Midwest unearthed Doomsday. They'd been digging for oil, or so the reports said, when their industrial diamond drill struck the hull of a metal capsule deep underground and awoke the beast slumbering inside. Of course they had no idea what they'd done, not for several hours anyway. All they knew was that there was suddenly a deep, rhythmic pounding coming from somewhere beneath their feet, a pounding which shook the ground like an earthquake and wouldn't stop. It continued for hours as the single minded beast strove to free himself from his prison. And then all was suddenly quite as the monster began his assent through the tunnel they'd dug him. It was the calm before the storm, and when said storm finally hit, only one of the workers was left alive. And he had no idea where he'd been spared. He only knew that somehow, he alone had escaped Doomsday.

Having killed the miners and destroyed their equipment, the monster cut a great swatch through America, indiscriminately killing and utterly wrecking anything he fancied along the way. The Justice League had tried to stop him... and failed. Perhaps they'd succeeded in slowing him down, but even that remained in question, as the monster beat a more or less indirect path towards Metropolis and the home of the Man of Tomorrow.

Superman himself entered the fray not long after the Justice League, but by the time the monster reached the East Coast, Superman alone remained standing and fighting. The battle lasted for hours, terrible, horror filled hours as Earth's greatest champion and a mindless force of primal destruction battled across entire states with all of humanity hanging in the balance. And through the Man of Steel tried his best, it was only after the monster reached his home, that Superman found the strength, or perhaps the will to finally take him down.

Lois Lane, Jason's mother, who'd been there during those final moments wrote about the change she saw in their guardian as Doomsday reached the Daily Planet building. "It was the first time I'd ever seen him [Superman], fight to kill... not to simply to protect."

And only when the Man of Steel so committed himself to the battle was he finally able to match the monster's fury and tip the scales. That day the man from the stars did the impossible did what no one else could. He stopped Doomsday. But a terrible price was paid for that victory. For, like weary boxers in the final round of the world championship, both combatants poured everything they had left into those final moments. And in the end there was nothing left... for either of them. Yes, Doomsday was stopped... but only at the cost of the life of Earth's champion. The end of the Earth had been averted, and humanity was saved... but their light from the stars was extinguished. And now, and now the Earth continued to spin, and people went on about their daily life, as they must. But Jason was very aware of the subtle yet profound change around him. Darkness had fallen, the long night had come, and the Son of Superman wondered if humanity would ever see the dawn again.

Jason entered the school and passed through a small metal arch where an obnoxious buzzer went off, breaking him from his thoughts and memories and trusting him into the here and now. "Empty your pockets," a school official standing next to the metal detector instructs, and Jason complies.

The throng was not indifferent to the disruption as they began to redirected around the new kid, and Jason caught a few of them giving him nasty or dumb looks as he fished in his pockets for anything made of metal. But none bothered to take the energy to speak. They just continued on, moving through the other metal detectors and getting on with their own lives.

Jason deposited the contents of his pockets into the small, dish-like receptacle. One item caught the school official's attention, and he picked up the red Swiss-army knife. "And what do we have here? Planning on starting trouble mister?"

Jason thought it odd that the school seemed fine with him carrying what they apparently considered a weapon onto a buss of thirty other students and only thought it necessary to intervene when said 'weapon' was about to be brought into the teachers' classrooms. But he didn't bother to note this discrepancy in his reply. "Sorry, Sir, I forgot it was in there."

The man stars at Jason appraisingly. "I don't remember seeing you here before."

"I just transferred. It's my first day."

"Well don't let it happen again."

"I won't"

"Good. You can move along now."

"Yes, Sir. Uh, where should I go to get my knife back once school's over?"

The man lets out a half snort, half chuckle. "Sorry kid. Once we confiscate something, you don't get it back."

And Jason resists the urge to protest the permanent confiscation. The Swiss-army knife was far more tool than weapon. The most worn attachment on it was clearly the flip out screwdriver. And the blade, measuring scarcely an inch and not all that sharp, was hardly threatening. Even still, he knew there was little point in arguing with bureaucracy, and so continued on into the school. He could already tell, though, that he wasn't going to like this place.

Once inside Jason's first stop once was administration where he picked up his class schedule, received his locker assignment, and handled the other various incidentals involved with the first day in a new school. Then he moved to his locker to deposit his backpack, jacket, and other carry-in peripherals in preparation for his first class. And that was when, for the first time that day, Jason provoked a verbal response from one of his fellow students.

"Hey, look at the dork in the superman t-shirt," one student laughed as he lightly slapped his nearest friend's arm. The rest of the pack joined in the laughter, and Jason suddenly realized that perhaps not all of his clothes had been as well selected for blending in as he'd hoped.

He didn't normally walk around in Superman t-shirts. It was a little to on the nose for his taste, but this was a little different. The t-shirt was black, with a dripping, blood-red S stylized on the front. It was a special commemorative shirt given out to every citizen of Metropolis during the week following Superman's great sacrifice. And Jason thought it suiting for the anniversary of his father's death.

And as he stood there, staring at all the laughing faces, Jason the rage of youth; and an odd sort of bitterness began to set in as he realized that the cause of this ridicule was the simple fact that he was horning the memory of his dead father, a man who'd given his life in the protection of others. Jason's hand tightened into a fist, and he suddenly felt a profound desire to jam it down the nearest laughing throat and shut them up. But another voice in his head held him back. His fist unclenched. And, instead of violence, Jason merely shook his head, closed his locker, and moved on.

The classes weren't bad, just the typical high school stuff: algebra; history; chemistry; nothing Jason wasn't expecting... or didn't already know a good deal about from his 'extra circular' summer 'educations'. In fact, he was fairly sure that in some of the classes, math and science especially, he was better educated than the teachers themselves. After all, it wasn't likely any of them had a crystal fortress up in the North Pole filled with the consolidated knowledge of an ancient and once very powerful alien race. Truth be told, the classes were somewhat boring, but they they'd still been the best part of Jason's day.

* * *

Halfway through the school day, Jason's luck started to run bad again though. He was in the cafeteria, trying to choke down what could only describe as a 'meat paste', when the 'pack leader' from before came over with his friends. "Aww, why you sitting all alone over here? Doesn't anyone like you?"

"Go away."

"What, is something bothering the little 'superboy'? I know, maybe Superman will fly in through the window and make everything bett- oh, wait that's right. Superman isn't going to make anything better, is he? 'Cause he's dead."

The rest of the pack broke out laughing again, and Jason put his spoon down and stood up. He faced the would be bully, staring him directly in the eye. "I wonder if you realize just how transparent you are."

The other student's eyebrows knit together for a moment. "What?"

"Your life must be truly pathetic if you constantly need to ridicule others to shift the focus away from yourself and keep your 'friends' from discovering what a wretched little thing you really are."

Suddenly, the other student's nostrils flared, and Jason could hear his heartbeat accelerating. He reached out, grabbed Jason's shirt and pulled him to him. "What did you call me?"

"A wretched little thing," Jason replied without missing a beat. "But that's not what you should be concerned with right now. Oh, no, what you should be concerned with is the choice you're about to make. Now, you can either release me and walk away, or you can give into your anger and start a fight. This would, however, be a very poor choice."

"Oh really, and why is that?" the student growled.

"For the same reason you chose to start harassing me in the first place: I'm the new kid. Now, I know what you were thinking. He's new. He hasn't had a chance to make friends. His all alone, with no allies to help him, and so he's vulnerable and easy pickings. Well, sure, but there's a flaw in your logic," Jason replied an excited almost gleeful tone to his voice.

"You see, I'm the new kid, and though that may mean that I haven't made any friends, it also means that I'm a complete unknown. You have absolutely no idea who I am or what I'm capable of. I could be a third degree black belt, who can flatten you in a millisecond. Or worse, I could be one of those deeply disturbed students that you see on the news every once in a while, the kid who sits alone in his room and makes hit lists and looks up bomb schematics online. Start something now, and for all you know, I could snap and coming back with an AK47 and start blowing holes in you and all your friends here. So, what you should be thinking about, what you should be considering very carefully, is just how much are you willing to risk by going up against a completely unknown opponent," he continued his voice growing darker and taking on a surprisingly threatening quality.

And the would be bully looked taken back by his intended victim's sudden switch in attitude. He set Jason down, slightly stunned look upon his face and turned away, leaving the new kid to his 'meat paste'. But then he saw the faces of his friends, the look of disappointment, and realized the respect he'd lost. And the student's lust for popularity and the admiration of his friends suddenly got the better of what little common sense he possessed. "You know, what, I'll chance it," he quibbled as he turned and flung his fist at the back of Jason's head... only to have the latter dodge and catch the blow in midair.

"Wrong choice," Jason replied, as the other student's eyes went wide, and pulled his tormentor to him. He grabbed the would be bully's shirt, lifted him into the air and hurled him against the wall. And then the rest of the pack joined in.

If it wasn't for their stupidity and the fact that this fight was mostly of their own making, Jason would've felt almost sorry for the punk pack as he threw them around like rag dolls. But instead, he simply felt insulted by their thick headedness. Still, that little voice that held him back before was in the back of his mind, making him pull his punches and ensuring that he don't actually kill anyone - just roughed them up enough to teach them a lesson... and maybe blow off a little steam.

A crowd had begun to gather around and watch the fight. And to no surprise they seemed to be quite enjoying the show. Various cries of: "Oh, yeah," "That's gotta hurt," and "Ooh, wouldn't want to be him," rang through the air. Whether the crowd was so pleased because the pack of punks had tormented them in the past or if they're just excited to see a fight, Jason didn't know. And he didn't much care. He'd wanted a day of quite reflection and morning, but a brawl to blow off steam wasn't bad either. And Jason found he wasn't above playing to the crowed a little too, as he let a couple of the punks actually land a punch or two and feigned being hurt by the insignificant impact of their weak fists... inwardly grinning the whole time, and then turning the battle back in his favor whenever he had a mind too. He was playing with the punks now, but the crowd didn't seem observant enough to notice.

One student, however, did try to break up the fight. An unremarkable looking teen, about Jason's age, but a little shorter, managed to break through the crowd, inserting himself in-between the pack of punks and the new kid playing tag with them. "Come on, they've had enough."

But Jason was running high on adrenaline and intoxicated by the shouts of the crowd and he didn't want his fun spoiled by some interloper. The would be bullies had made their choice and Jason wasn't quite through 'educating' them on just how foolish a choice it had been. He pushed the interloper up against a support pillar and growled, "You shouldn't get involved in other people's fights."

Then that voice cut into the lad's head, louder now than before. _'Why not? I did all the time.' _It was the voice of Jason's Father, calling to him from beyond the grave. When Jason had been five, and was first discovering his power, his father had told him that, as his son, Jason would carry him inside him all the days of his life, that he would make his father's strength his own, see his life through his father's eyes, that son becomes the father and the father the son. It had taken years before I Jason truly understood what his father had meant. A part of his father would always be watching over him, a whisper in his head trying to keep him from giving into his baser nature and guiding him along the path of enlightenment and selflessness. And even though his father's body had died fighting Doomsday, that part of him was still with Jason. If anything, it seemed to have grown stronger after his father's passing.

"That's different," Jason whispered aloud, drawing bizarre looks from those around him closer enough to hear.

_'Really? Stepping in to protect people from someone obviously stronger than them? It sounds pretty familiar to me,'_ the voice responded, and finally Jason began to calm.

He was just about to let the kid go when a girl suddenly appeared beside him. "John, run," she instructed and slammed a fist down on Jason's extended arm. And to the latter's surprise his elbow actually bent from the force of the blow, pulling his outstretched hand away from the kid - "John" presumably- he was about to release anyway.

Jason was shocked, to see the least, to see find that another student, and one smaller than him too boot, possessed the strength to bend his arm against his will. And his surprise only grew as she proceeded to grab him and spin him around with enough force to pull my feet from the ground. She then released him, and sent him flying into the air. Jason crashed strait through a table as he landed, pulverizing it in the process. Jason wasn't really hurt though, just surprised. This girl, who didn't look like she could bench more than a hundred pounds, had just lifted him from the ground and thrown him across the room with all the visible strain of a man tossing a Frisbee.

The girl was advancing on Jason again. He flipped himself upright, but she managed to nail him the gut before he could ready himself to block. The punch knocked the wind out of him for a few seconds, and she used that time to pull down his head and knee it. Jason heard a cracking sound as his face slammed into her leg, and his nose started bleeding. And, in utter shock, he realized that it was broken. For the first time in Jason's life, he had a broken bone.

He recovered enough of his senses to dodge the next attack though, then managed to get his foot around hers and trip her. Jason's nose had already healed, but it wasn't straight, hadn't been set right after the break. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed it, and with a scream re-broke it and set it properly. The girl was still on the ground, but Jason found himself hesitant to press his advantage.

Under normal circumstances, he knew how much force he could can apply without being lethal, but these circumstances were hardly normal. And he was still trying to decide what to do, when the girl's legs went up, and she kicked him in the chin. Jason went down, and the girl was on top of him in an instant. Her hands went for his throat. He grabbed them before they could reach their target and found himself in near disbelief as he had to strain with all his might to keep the girl's hands from advancing any further. Just where was she from anyway? Tamaran? Apocalypse?

It was then that John, the kid Jason had previously pinned against the pillar, cut in once more. "Cameron stop!" he exclaimed, his tone oddly making it sound like an order, and suddenly the girl did stop. A puzzling moment passed as Jason's brain assimilated all the new, and surprising information, and then he released his grip on the hands of the young woman still straddling him on the cafeteria floor. John, who actually had managed to stop the fighting this time, came over and surprised Jason even further by turning to _him_ and asking, "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine. Do you think you can get your girlfriend off of me though? I do believe this is how those nasty high school rumors get started. Best to avoid that, right?" Jason answered, and John turned an unhappy look on his 'girlfriend'.

"He could still be a threat," she responded.

"Cam, let him go," John replied, and the girl finally got off. He then extended his hand and offered it to Jason, to help pull him up.

Jason accepted the olive branch, and apologized for his previous behavior. "Hey, sorry about before. I was just upset and…"

"Don't worry about it. Are you sure that you're okay?" John cut in, seeming genuinely shocked that Jason was alright. And the latter realized that if another student had gone three rounds with the former's girlfriend, they'd probably be rushing the kid to the emergency room... or the morgue.

"Yeah, fine, really," Jason assured, all while wondering about the strange girl. There were questions he wanted to ask, his parents' reporter blood rising up in his veins. But he realized that those questions had to wait for the time being. After all, given the girl's capabilities, this Cameron probably had some kind of 'secret origin' that her and John would be unlikely to discuss in public.

"I'm tougher than I look," Jason continued. And that was when the vice principal walked in, saw the aftermath of the fight, turned an unnatural shade of beet-red, and sentenced Jason, John, Cameron, and all the others involved in the fight too detention.

* * *

If you're a previous reader returning to see what's new, please let us know what you thought of reworking. And if you're new to this story, we'd love to hear your initial impressions of it. ;) The second chapter will be up again once I've finished reworking it, and more chapters will follow as we find the time to rework them as well. Hope you enjoy.

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St. Thomas.


	2. Chapter 2: Reboot

**Chapter 2: Reboot.**

* * *

_'Motion detected. Core activated. Beginning system reactivation._

_'Countdown: 15 seconds._

_'14 seconds: Creative Simulation Matrix powering up._

_'13 seconds: Creative Simulation Matrix reactivated._

_'12 seconds: Emotional Construct Matrix powering up._

_'11 seconds: Emotional Construct Matrix reactivated._

_'10 seconds: Cognitive Systems powering up._

_'9 seconds: Cognitive Systems reactivated._

_'8 seconds: Memory Matrix powering up._

_'7 seconds: Memory Matrix reactivated._

_'6 seconds: Sensory System Matrix powering up._

_'5 seconds: Sensory System Matrix reactivated._

_'4 seconds: Motor Function Matrix powering up._

_'3 seconds: Motor Function Matrix reactivated._

_'2 seconds: Combat Matrix powering up._

_'1 second: Combat Matrix reactivated._

_'Full system reactivation complete.'_

In a bunker, deep underground, the machine in human skin awoke and found a MP officer is standing in front of it, gun raised and body in a defensive stance. "Hey, are you deaf?" the MP asked, in a mixture of bravado, caution, and duty. "I asked how you how you got in here."

The machine reached out and grabbed his neck. "Thank you for opening the door," the cybernetic assassin commented." Those would the last words the man would ever hear. Effortlessly, the machine snapped his neck, then let the lifeless body drop unceremoniously to the floor. There was no sense of regret, joy, or any other emotion on the killer's face, rather his features, though made of flesh, seemed as unchanging as if they'd been carved from stone.

The machine claimed the MP's side arm and ran through its list of objectives.

_'Primary objective: Terminate John Connor._

_'Status: Incomplete._

_'Mission objective: Secure coltan to be used in future construction._

_'Status: Failed.'_

It paused to access its core and rewrite the status of that last objective. Now freed from its cage, the machine yet had a chance to complete its mission.

_'Mission objective: Secure coltan to be used in future construction._

_Status: Incomplete._

_Course of action: Find secured computer terminal and connect to Cyberdyne information network. Upload information on resistance units, then begin searching for information on current and future coltan shipments.'_

* * *

The machine returned to its apartment to find that the lock had been changed in its absence. This was hardly a problem however, as the six-foot, metal, assassin easily and quietly forced the door open anyway. The apartment matched the last image in the machine's databank, and obviously - other than the lock - it remained untouched since the machine last left. The landlord must not have been able to rent it out yet. The machine briefly pondered the abnormality of the room remaining vacant despite the fact that the city's population was growing at a rate of 9.873% per year, indicating that approximately two million additional organics had joined the city's already overburdened population during the unit's absence. Then a rat scurried across the machine's foot, and it determined that the most likely cause of the landlord's failure to rent out the apartment was human beings' innate dislike of rodent life forms.

Having satisfied the seemingly contradictory bits of information and brought the world around it back into balance, the machine continued on to its computer and waited while the primitive device booted up. Once online, the machine accessed the Cyberdyne information network, a hidden data repository imbedded deep within "The Matrix Online" game code. Briefly the machine wondered how the millions of humans who accessed the system's 'front game' would react, if they knew its true purpose was to pass information between terminators sent back from the future. Then the computer established a secure connection with one of the information servers, and the machine dismissed such irrelevant musings.

The terminator opened its mouth and reached down its throat with one hand. It pulled out a thin, USB connecting cable and inserted it into the computer then began the information exchange. If it had been capable of such an advanced emotion, the unit would've been astounded by the revelation that one of the resistance members who'd interfered with its mission was in fact none other than John Connor himself. As it was, the machine merely paused and double checked its findings.

The results were the same. And the machine determined that the most logical course of action was to postpone its mission for the time being. If the future leader of the human resistance movement had interfered once, it was likely he'd to do so again. And the unit did not intend to let Skynet's most dangerous foe deter its mission once more. The machine switched from its mission objective to its primary objective. Once John had been terminated, it could resume its mission and complete it without having to worry about John Connor interfering any further. And when the unit eventually returned to Skynet - its maker - it could claim the destruction of the human leader as well as the completion of its base mission. And if that didn't prove the superiority and greater dependability of the T-860s, over the newer T-888s, to the creator, then the unit didn't know what could.

The 860 terminator knew that the 888 which was assigned to terminate John had already searched the Californian school records for any students who match the future resistance leader's current description and used the first name John or any derivative of that name. And the 860 was also aware that the 888 was even now in the process of tracking down the matches that resulted from that search. However, the 888 had made an error. It had overlooked the connection between John and his newest protector unit.

When the 888 uploaded the information from its first termination attempt on John Conner, it identified the protector unit's designation as "Cameron Phillips". Logic dictated that the 888 should have been searching only for schools with both a John and a Cameron. Even still, the 860 was not surprised by the 888's oversight. In Skynet's attempt to build ever improved infiltration units, the creator had made the newest models too human. They were nearly as flawed as the humans themselves, as evidenced by the 888's own report.

When chasing John it had actually stopped to turn back to the class and deliver what it considered to be 'a witty statement'. What a uniquely human error. It should have remained focused on its target, like any good machine would have. Then maybe the 888 would've been successful in its mission, and John wouldn't have been able to interfere with the 860's mission in the first place.

The 860 would've sighed at the incompetence of the newer unit if the machine had been more human like, a dreadful thought indeed. Instead, it merely accessed the list of schools the 888's search had already determined to be possible locations for John and refined the list further by running an additional search for students matching the description of John's protector and using the first name Cameron, or any variation thereof.

The new search returned only seven possible matches, and the 860 began comparing and prioritizing these results. One of the matches was a school containing a pair of students, named John and Cameron, who were claiming to be brother and sister. Both matched the descriptions the Cyberdyne information network had on file, and the machine quickly prioritized this as the most likely of the seven possibilities. It began to search the students' files more closely and discovered that they'd listed their mother's first name as Sarah. "Bingo." The 860 now had the address of both John's school and home.

_'Query: How did the nebulous term 'Bingo' enter this unit's vocabulary? Answer: One of the organic units that were used to assist this unit in its mission, often used the term to express satisfaction at sudden success or achievement. The term was subsequently incorporated into this unit's infiltration subroutine. The term is no longer needed. Status: Deleted.'_

The machine checked its internal chronometer. In the current time zone it was 9:32 A.M. John should've been at school. Using this information, the 860 formed a plan of action. It would go to John's school and wait outside until the classes ended for the day and the students began to exit. Then it would scan their faces, and compare each to the image of John on record. Then, when it located the future leader of the human resistance movement, it would exterminate him.

* * *

The machine camped out on the roof of the building nearest the school. It waited. It waited for hours. And in that time it saw the spectacle of human life pass before it. It observed the humans, their pack mentality, and their overly flawed, illogical approach to existence. Kids, too young for school, flocked to an ice-cream truck, intent on ingesting unhealthy materials. Women paraded down the sidewalk, chatting about the pointless dresses and jewelry they had purchased. Men grunted and spit while they debated which one of their insignificant team would win "the next big game", or which celebrity/fictional character was 'hotter' or would win in a fight. The machine observed it all, all the energy that these humans wasted on futile endeavors and useless social interactions. It found the scene utterly repulsive and was pleased that its current task allowed it some distance from the obscenity of human incompetence.

The machine realized the great error it had made when last attempting to complete its mission. It had taken on human recruits to assist it. They had no idea what was really going on of course, but the machine figured that the marginal assistance they could provide - flawed as it was - was better than nothing and would still somewhat improve productivity. But now it understood just how wrong that assumption had been. It was still unsure exactly how John had gotten into the bunker, or even found out about its mission at all, but it knew - somehow it just knew - that one of its human accomplices was somehow to blame.

But then, that was the price it paid for being a Cyberdyne Systems Series T-860. It would forever be surrounded by incompetence and forced to clean up the messes caused by humans... and left behind by the other, inferior, models.

As the school day drew to a close, the machine found itself wondering about its target. How was it that this John Connor was able to continually upset the creator's best plans. How had he managed to avoid so many termination attempts. The attempts by other Cyberdyne System Series the 860 could understand, but John's future self had even survived a few attempts made by other 860s. What was it about John that made him so hard to kill? What was it about this human that made him the only truly worthy opponent the machine's creator had?

The students began to exit the school building, and the machine used a pair of binoculars to scan each of their faces. It waited and watched until all the students had left, but it failed to identify John's face in any of them.

How could this be? Where was John? Had he somehow sensed the ambush and fled? The 860 recalled that one of the humans who use to work for it often mentioned something that he called ESP. He'd said that some humans had the ability to sense future events. This machine had dismissed the human's nonsensical ramblings as illogical, but... could this assessment have been in error? Was it possible that John possessed such an ability. Could it be that that was why he was able to out-maneuver the creator? Did he "see it before it happened"? Was such a thing possible?

No. The machine suddenly realized just how illogical such questions were and understood that it had spent too much time in the company of humans. Their nonsensical 'reasoning' patterns had started to contaminate the machine's processor. The 860 understood that this was a side effect of its chip having been set to "read/write" instead of "read only" when it had been sent on its mission.

It understood the creator's reasoning behind the decision of course. Skynet lacked enough information on human social interaction to preprogram the 860 with the information necessary for such a long term infiltration of the U.S. human military organization, and the long term infiltration was deemed necessary for the completion of the 860's mission. The creator had really had no choice in the matter.

The machine did not 'blame' its creator for sending it back with a red/write chip, nor did it blame its creator for the greater machine's gap in knowledge, which necessitated such a decision. Why would any superior machine life form want to tie up memory with information on something as pointless as human social interactions after all? However, the 860 did realize that its system was beginning to slowly become infected with human-like flaws in its reasoning abilities, and it determined that a full mission backup and system restore was necessary to erase these re-occurring 'glitches'. It would begin the process immediately upon returning to its apartment, after the successful extermination of John Connor. But, for now, the machine would just have to compensate as best it could for the glitches and 'soldier on'.

Having disregarded the illogical possibility that the target, John Connor, possessed some form of extra sensory perception, the machine only saw two possible explanations remaining. Either John was still in the building somewhere, or, for some reason, he'd been absent from school this day. If the later turned out to be true, then John was most likely at home, or would return there eventually and the 860 could go there to terminate him. But if the target was still in the school, the 860 could complete his extermination more quickly, due to the school's closer proximity.

Thus, the 860 determined its most efficient course of action would be to proceed inside the school and begin a search for its target. If this search proved fruitless, it could then move on the the human's domicile and continue the hunt there.

The machine entered the school building, only to hear an odd buzzer go off as it stepped through a small, metal frame. A human off to the side ordered the 860 to empty its pockets. The annoyance was quickly dispatched, and the machine continued onward.

* * *

But while the machine had been waiting outside, John had been trapped in detention... kicking himself over his decision to interfere in the school-house brawl. _'This is just great. Way to not stand out, John. But what could I do? I was afraid that kid might actually kill Bert. I didn't catch the beginning of the fight, but I don't doubt that Bert started it. Him and his friends are always hassling someone. Still, that doesn't mean that he deserves to die. Whatever happened, that kid definitely overreacted. Of course, Cameron wasn't much better._

_'She certainly didn't do much to help diffuse the situation. Aw, maybe I shouldn't be so hard on her. She was just trying to protect me, after all... But, we're going to have to have a little talk about excessive force. The kid pushed me a little, and Cameron almost took his head off! Actually, I'm surprised there's an 'almost' in there. What's his deal anyway? Throwing Bert his friends around like a bunch of rag dolls, surviving close-quarters combat with a terminator?'_

John looked over at the new kid. He stared at him, as if this new kid was a puzzle that could be figured out just by examining it from another angle. Jason turned and saw John staring, and the latter began tapping his fingers on the wooden desktop. John quickly turned away, not wanting to draw too much attention from the strange new kid who - whatever he was - hardily seemed human. Still, he couldn't help but wonder just what his new 'detention buddy' was, and he continued to ponder the question, even as Jason continued his rhythmic tapping.

After what Cameron did to the him, he should have been in an emergency room... or worse. Yet, other than the somewhat scuffled clothing and the dried blood caked on under his nostrils, he seemed perfectly fine. And John couldn't help but wonder how this new kid managed to come out of that fight with nothing worse than a bloody nose. The kid couldn't possibly be a terminator. Terminators didn't break cover unless they deem it necessary for the completion of an objective. John supposed that it was possible that Skynet could've sent a terminator back to kill Bert; but if that were the case, Bert would be dead. A terminator would've just crushed Bert right away, not launched into a speech about why Bert shouldn't mess with him... and then start playing to the crowd as they gathered to watch the one-sided brawl. No the kid was defiantly not a terminator. So what then?

John supposed he could've been a meta. Everyone knew that 'meta-humans' (or super-humans as they were sometimes called) existed. But they were exceptionally rare, and most were full grown adults, their mutations being the result of lab accidents of one sort or another. There were a handful of teenage metas as well, but as far as John knew, they were all over on the East Coast, members of the Teen Titians... or their 'rogue's gallery'. And their identities - if not their real names - were well established and common knowledge. John had never seen this new kid in any newspapers or reports. If he was a meta, he was keeping a low profile, and that too was unusual.

Most of the world looked up to its heroes, its 'supermen' and 'superwomen'. And there was little reason for a meta to keep his or her identity a secret, not when the government offered grants and training programs, and a sponsored team, like the Titans, got to live in a multi-million dollar tower overlooking the ocean. No one was after the handful of abnormalities born as metas (at least no one beyond the occasional nut-jobs, who were far from a serious threat), protesting them, or trying to hunt them down and kill them. Rather they were one of the few cases where 'different' was honestly viewed as 'special' and 'gifted'. And, as a result, they were treated more like a cross between idols and national treasures. Robin and Starfire posters were almost as common place in teen bedrooms as Justin Beber and Megan Fox ones were.

As John was pondering all of this, Jason was still busily tapping away, and finally the former began to detect a somewhat familiar pattern in the latter's tapping. It took a couple more seconds before John could place that familiarity however. But, he eventually recognized it as Morse code.

Now, John hadn't done anything with Morse code in years. He wasn't even sure if he remember it all - despite his mother's instance that it would prove vital when he was trying to coordinate a worldwide resistance movement with nothing but scavenged parts and old tech, sometime after the rise of the machines. But he still remembered some of it, and hoped that the rest would come back to him as applied what he could remember.

The pattern recycled again, and this time John tried his best to decipher it. Dash, dot, dash. Lets see, that was a K. Dash, dot. That was a N. Dash, dash, dash. That was an O. Dot, dash, dash. That was a W. K,n,o,w: "Know". The edge of John's lip curled slightly as he realized that he was actually pulling it off, despite his seriously lapsed studies. Dash, dash: a M. Dash, dash, dash: another O. Dot, dash, dot. That was either a R or a C. Dot, dot, dot. That was definitely an S. And the single dot at the end singled an E. M,o,r,s,e; or M,o,c,s,e. "Morse" that had to be it. John put the two words together: "Know Morse?", and realized that the other kid was asking him if he understood Morse code.

Suddenly John began tapping as well, as he did his best to reply and open a line of communication with the new kid. "Yeah, but I'm a little rusty. Can you slow it down a bit."

"No problem. We've got plenty of time and not a whole lot to do. Hey, what's your name?"

John was always a little reluctant to give out his name. He was on the run from time-traveling, cybernetic hitmen after all. But he figured the first name was safe enough. After all, that was a matter of his - forged - public records anyway, and a fairly common name to boot. "John."

"Hi, John. I'm Jason. Sorry I got you into this."

"Don't worry about it." After all, it wasn't like he hadn't in worse - a _lot_ worse in fact.

"Thanks. You know, you did a good thing, trying to break up that fight. I was a little out of control. I'm glad that you kept me from seriously hurting those punks."

"Yeah, Bert can have that effect on people." John looked over at the school bully. He had his turned head sideways to the vice principal, trying to keep the single ear bud in his right ear safely hidden from the authority's line of sight.

"One in every school, huh? But, well, I still over reacted. It was just words after all; I should've ignored it rather than taking his bait."

"Well, some good might still come out of it. Maybe he'll think twice before messing with the next new kid."

"LoL. Maybe, but then blockheads like him aren't exactly known for learning lessons. I, on the other hand, learned mine quite well."

"What?" John asked, confused by Jason's last message and thinking that perhaps he'd translated part of it incorrectly.

"Not going to make the mistake of underestimating your girlfriend again."

"What girlfriend?"

"The one who beat the crap out of me."

Oh, he was referring to Cameron. John had been so nervous during the fight that it only now registered that Jason had been calling her that. And suddenly John realized that he had to correct this discrepancy. After all, Cameron was listed as his sister in the school record - a colossal lie, of course, but not one the kid had any intension of drawing attention too. "Oh, Cameron. She's my sister, not my girlfriend."

As the boys' conversation switched to Cameron, she briefly turned back and locked eyes with John, letting him know that she was listening in, even if she wasn't taking an active part in their communication. _'Well, of course she is,'_ John suddenly realized. After all, she was a war machine with some of the best code breaking tech on the planet... and an odd fondness for reading anything remotely military related while the rest of the house slumbered and she continued in her silent, unending patrol. In all probability she knew Morse code far better than he did.

Her eyes lingered on his for just a moment. And though he couldn't be sure, he _thought_ he detected some sort of emotion in her gaze. But it was subtle, and perhaps he was just imagining things. The terminator that was his body-guard was always difficult to read. She'd be designed to infiltrate, to fit in, to mimic human responses, actions, and movements. And although far from perfect in her impersonation, sometimes - just occasionally - she would give off hints of true life lurking just beneath the surface. Of course whether these were just bursts of brilliance driven by her ever adapting programming, or the first glimpses of a infantile soul beginning to develop, John couldn't say. And he generally did his best to ignore them, lest he be tempted to read more into them than was really there. But every now and then, she'd do something he couldn't ignore, couldn't quite dismiss as simple adaptive infiltration programming, like playing classical music and dancing ballet within the solitude of her own bedroom.

"Really? In that case, is she seeing anyone?" Jason's metered tapping broke in, disrupting John's idol musings and bringing the latter's mind back to the here and now.

"You do not want to try to date her," John warned in reply, as his head filled with all the possible complications that could result from his in-human 'sister' picking up a cover boyfriend at school... including one possible complication which he pushed to the back of his head and chose to deny had ever crossed his mind to begin with.

"Why not?" Jason asked. "She's the right age, pretty, strong and seems to be more than willing to fight for the people she cares about. That doesn't sound too bad to me."

John shook his head. How exactly was he going to warn this kid - this new, _unknown_ factor at his school - away from the homicidal killing machine in aesthetically pleasing, human from without giving too much away? It wasn't like he could tell the truth, that she was a cybernetic assassin who was only _slightly_ less likely to snap the neck of someone who got in her way than politely ask them to step aside. "You just don't. Trust me on this. I know her much better than you do, and she's not exactly what she seems."

"No one is. We all wear masks and have sides that we don't choose to show the general public... or even those close to us. We all keep secrets and tell lies. It's part of what makes us human."

Oh, boy, if he had any idea just how ironic his last reply was... "Her secrets are a little more dangerous than most."

"Maybe I like danger." And as if in answer to Jason's last message, the door burst open and the sanctity of detention was thrown out the window as the new intruder raised a gun and aimed right between John's eyes.

* * *

Well, I hope you all enjoyed the second chapter. Actually, this ended up being the combined second and and first half of the third chapter from the original version. But I wanted to bring things back around to our three main protagonists before the chapter ended. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. ;)

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid, and Chris St. Thomas.


	3. Chapter 3: And a Lot of Running

**Chapter 3: And a Lot of Running.**

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. As John became painfully aware that his life was now, once more hanging in the balance. Cameron flung herself from her desk, moving as quickly as she could to place herself between John and the familiar terminator who had somehow escaped from the underground bunker they'd previously sealed it in. And just as said terminator began to squeeze the trigger of his looted side arm, John also caught a blur of rapid movement in his peripheral vision.

Suddenly a "BANG!", loud as thunder, ripped through the classroom, like the crackling of whip, and John's eyes instinctively screwed shut. But then his training took over. His eyes were back open in the space of a blink. And he was surprised to find the terminator's gun no longer pointing at him. Rather it was aimed straight up at the ceiling as Jason struggled with the machine.

Bert, his friends and the vice principal all beat feet out of the room, the gunshot acting as a starter's pistol for their mad dash for safety. The terminator let them go. John wasn't surprised. After all, it wasn't after them, just him... and anyone foolhardy enough to try to protect him.

Jason was still trying to wrest the gun out of the terminator's hand, but he lacked the strength necessary to overpower the machine in a straight up contest of muscle. However, Jason was able to get his hand around the barrel of the gun and bend it, rendering the weapon useless for anything other than a paperweight. The terminator seemed rather displeased by this, as he retaliated by grabbing Jason, lifting him over his head, and chucking him out of the classroom window.

Having cast aside the distraction, the machine focused its attention back on its target. However, before it could reach John, Cameron intercepted it and body slammed it into the wall of the classroom.

"John run!" the female cyborg yelled as she entered a wrestling contest with the larger T-860, and John found that his legs were already taking him from the battling, time-traveling assassins as fast as they could.

As he ran down the hall of the school, he could hear the smashing sounds of Cameron and the terminator fighting behind him. A part of him wanted to turn back, to see how the battle was going and if Cameron was going to be okay, but the wiser, more pragmatic part told him that he had to keep moving. Maybe Cameron stood a chance of taking out that mountainous mound of flesh covered metal with nothing but her bare hands, but John knew his frailer form would break like a toothpick if that enemy ever got its hands on him. So, the future savior and hope of the human race ran from the battle he was not yet ready to face, his destiny trailing behind him as his body guard fought to hold it back as long as possible.

A black, tan, and grey blur zipped past him as he continued on down the long corridor of classrooms. The force of the wind created by the blur spun the teen half-way around, and he saw the blur impact the enemy terminator, hitting it with sufficient force to drive them both out of the window at the far end of the hallway. John stopped and stared for a moment, but Cameron, her blouse torn and the right side of her face scraped up enough to expose bits of the metal which laid beneath the fleshy outer layer, caught back up to him and urged him on. "We have to go, now!"

The two ran to the nearest exit and headed for the parking lot, hoping that they could 'procure' a vehicle and escape before the enemy terminator caught back up with them again. And as they stepped out into the shadowed landscape of the school, somewhere in the back of John's mind, he became dimly aware raindrops striking his face, as a few brave rays of sunlight found holes in the cloud cover above and broke through to light scattered beacons of hope upon the trees and ground, a reminded that somewhere beyond the dark, discouraging storm, light still blossomed.

As the parking lot came into view, the enemy terminator reappeared, and John heard a boom of thunder somewhere out in the distance. Then he saw the speedy blur charge the machine yet again, only this time, the enemy was prepared for the blow. The terminator turned its upper body back and then sprang forward with an outstretched arm, striking the blur like a major league batter hitting a homerun. And the blur went flying up into the air. It came crashing back to Earth a second latter, smashing through the roof of a parked car in the process, and setting off the machine's alarm. "Step away from the vehicle. You are too close to the vehicle. And I am the vehicle."

The enemy terminator turned back to John, locking unto its target once again, and as the latter continued to run, the former moved to grab hold of a metal dumpster. It hefted the trash repository and hurled it into the air. John did his best to change direction, but his foot slipped on the wet grass and he fell. And then the teen's vision became filled with nothing but the rusted, green hull of the metal dumpster as it came lopping down at him. Lacking the time necessary to run, or even roll away, John's hands instinctively, futilely came up to shield his head, but Cameron managed to reach her charge just in the nick of time, raising both arms to catch the falling dumpster before it could squash John like a bug. Her legs to sunk a good ten inches into the soft, wet ground, but she'd succeeded in saving the life of the future leader of humanity yet again.

Suddenly, Jason reappeared next to Cameron. His clothes were torn and barely holding together. His head and body were blood stained. He looked like a wreck. Yet, he's still lived; and other than the blood covering it, his face showed little sign of fatigue.

"Throw it!" Jason instructed

"He'll catch it," Cameron informed.

"I'm counting on that," Jason replied as he squatted down and assumed a sprinters stance.

Cameron then threw the dumpster back at the other terminator and began to pull her feet out of the earth. And as soon as the enemy terminator looked up, preparing to catch the dumpster, Jason took off. John didn't even see the blur this time, but he did hear what he thought was a sonic boom. And then the teen of steel, running faster than the speed of sound, slammed into the enemy terminator with everything he had. The impact drove the machine back, causing it, too, to seemingly disappear from where it was and then reappear a short distance away as it flew through the door of a parked car in the center of the lot.

The blur was back again as well, and John could just barely make out it landing strike after strike as it darted about the dazed enemy terminator. The machine, finally recovered enough of its senses to realize what was happening and began swatting at the blur, like a human at a buzzing insect. But, just as an annoying insect, Jason continued to dart in-between the blows and land hit after hit.

Cameron finally freed her legs, and she grabbed John's hand and began to half pull, half lead him closer to the parking lot. The two were now running straight at the dueling machine and blur. It was a dangerous gamble, since it brought John closer to the enemy who only really needed to land one good blow to break him... and destroy humanity's only hope for the future. But there was really no choice. Both John and Cameron knew that they'd never escape the machine on foot. They needed a vehicle.

As the two reached the edge of the parking lot, John saw the terminator take another swing at the blur. But the blur moved around this swing as well and landed a double-fisted blow on the enemy terminator's back, knocking the machine to its knees. Unfortunately, the enemy was quick to recover, as it turned its upper body and managed to finally land a punch. Jason stopped, dead in his tracks, as his whole body seemed to bend around the machine's fist, which had impacted the teen in his gut and knocked the wind right out of him.

Cameron smashed the window of the nearest parked car, unlocked the door, lifted John, and tossed him into the far passenger's seat. Then she followed in herself, as the enemy terminator grabbed hold of the winded blur. It lifted Jason high above its head once more and then sent his body crashing into the concrete ground. Still stunned, Jason just laid there, as the terminator stood over him. Then, it bent down and began to repeatedly drive its metal fists into Jason's body.

Cameron succeeded in hotwiring the car, and as the engine turned over, the enemy terminator shifted its attention back to John and his protector once again. Cameron shifted the car into drive, and took off, the enemy terminator running after them, as fast as it could. And, surprisingly, it was even gaining ground on the small automobile. "Figures, just our luck that we'd get a car with no acceleration," John quipped sardonically as the machine grew ever closer.

The terminator was right behind them now, and just as the car shifted into its next gear and began to pull away slightly, the enemy machine leapt onto the back of it and began to pull itself up. Cameron yelled for John to grab the wheel; and just as he was about to, the blur appeared again. It ran up past the car, stopped, turned around, and then began to dash back it. Jason latched onto the enemy terminator as he ran by, ripping the machine from its purchase... and taking a decent sized chuck of the car's frame with it.

The car was still running though, and as John looked back in the rearview mirror, he realized that they were going to make it after all. They were going to escape. Then the blur smashed through the doors leading back into the school, and John realized that Jason was trapped back inside with the enemy terminator.

And as John's fight or flight instinct began to wane in the light of their safe escape, he became worried about the new kid who'd just saved his life... and possibly prevented Cameron's destruction as well. The teen turned to his cybernetic bodyguard and opened his mouth. But she preempted him. "We can't go back."

"He helped save us."

"You're more important. If we go back you could be killed. You must survive."

"You could go back and help him. Between the two of you, I'm sure that you could take out that terminator. You could meet me back at the house."

"Defeating that terminator is not one of my objectives. You're protection is. We can't return to the house either. More terminators might be waiting for you there."

"I'm not leaving Mom and Derek!" John insisted. He knew the drill. Pickup, move on, adopt a new identity, start a new life, and never look back. But no matter how many times he was forced to abandon the life he'd been building, no matter whatever sacrifices he was forced to make. He was not about to leave his family behind.

"You must. Your survival is all that matters. Besides, you have little choice in the matter. I'm the one driving."

"And if I open the door, roll out of the car, and go for them myself?"

"You would sustain injuries. This car is moving quite fast. You could die."

"Then you'll drive to the house, and we'll pickup Mom and Derek," John blackmailed.

"There is another way to keep you from exiting the vehicle," Cameron countered and reached over to grab hold of John's arm.

"Let go!"

"No."

John tried to twist out of Cameron's grasp, but he couldn't. His strength was simply no match for that of a terminator.

"You should stop struggling. You're only going to injure your arm. I don't believe that is a desirable outcome for either of us," Cameron continued.

And then an idea struck John, and he did indeed stop his struggling. Instead, he merely looked over at Cameron and asked, "Do you know what coyotes do when one of their paws is caught in a trap?"

"Yes. They chew off their own leg in order to escape." Once she was finished relating the raw data Cameron glanced over at John, an almost suspicious look on her face. "Why?"

John didn't say anything. He merely stared back and twisted his captured arm one more time. And Cameron caught the implication. "Very well," she replied, turning her eyes back on the road before them. "We'll go pick up Sarah and Derek... But we need to be quick. And I go in first to assess the threat level in the house. You stay in the car until I give the all clear. And if I don't; you run."

And, realizing that that was the best he was going to get, John agreed to his protector's conditions. "Deal."

* * *

Sarah was sitting in the living room, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation and indulging in a little personal reading. They weren't safe of course; no one was ever 'safe'. But for the moment it seemed as if the struggle she faced with the future had eased from trench warfare to near cold war calm. A short time jump had taken them out of there proper place in the time-stream, and Skynet had lost track of them. They still had to be cautious of course - especially when they moved against their future foe's current plans - for machines from the future still stalked the city streets as men and women, but at least their enemy didn't know where to hunt them. And, that provided a small amount of peace of mind and a chance to occasionally indulge in the illusion of safety... just for a time. She should've known it was too good to last.

Suddenly Cameron burst into the house and her head jerked back and forth as she examined the surroundings with in-human speed. And, instantly, Sarah knew that something was very, very wrong.

"What's happened?"

"A terminator came to John's school."

The mother was suddenly filled with a rush of volatile emotions as her mind flashed with images of her son forced, once again, to square off against an enemy he was not yet prepared to face... and the guilt that came with not having been there to protect him. "What happened?" Sarah repeated her voice rising as the frustration of not knowing filled her.

Cameron didn't reply. Instead she merely continued her examination of the house, Sarah staring at her with nervous eyes. And the latter was only one step away from grabbing the former and shaking her until she answered, when Cameron finally used her cell phone to send the 'all clear' signal, and John pulled up to the front of the house in their stolen, battered car.

The son threw the door open and ran into the house, as anxious to discover his mother's and uncle's fate as Sarah was to discover her son's. And the mother wrapped her arms around her child and held him close. "Are you okay?" she cried.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm fine," John replied, looking a little uncomfortable with the display of maternal emotion, now that his own worries had been sated.

Sarah held her son for a few more seconds, before the full realization of their current circumstances set in. Then she broke the contact as she came to understand that if the terminator tracking John had been unsuccessful at the school, the home would be its next stop. "We have to leave."

"Yes," Cameron replied as she reached under the couch to retrieve a pump action shotgun and a shoulder strap full of spare cartridges.

Sarah pulled a Glock from the drawer of a nearby desk and cocked it as she ran to the bottom of the stairs. "Derek!" she hollered up.

The uncle's must've sensed the urgency in the mother's voice, for he appeared at the top of the staircase almost instantly, double barrel in hand. "Metal?"

Sarah nodded.

"Here?"

"Not yet."

"Guns and money."

"John and I will get the money, you and the terminator pack up the guns."

Derek looked a little displeased by the idea of being partnered up with the terminator, but recognizing the urgency of the situation, he didn't bother protesting. "Right."

"Wait, there's something else," John interrupted, as his family began their well rehearsed, essential pack up routine.

"Another threat?" Sarah asked succinctly.

"Well, no. It's mo-" John began to reply, but was cut off before he could finish.

"Then it can wait until we're in the car and headed away from here. Go bag up the cash, while I get the diamonds."

"No, wait, you don't understand. We-"

"John! We'll talk about this later. Right now we've got to-" Sarah forcefully interrupted as she tucked the Glock into the back of her waistband, and began dumping the diamonds stored in the bottom of one of the kitchen drawers into a Ziploc bag. Once finished, she opened the back door... only to find a teenage kid standing on the other side, his hand raised into a fist and positioned as if to knock on the wooden frame.

The kid was wearing a football uniform that was at least two sizes too big for him, and there were streaks of dried blood running across his face, through his hair, and down the sides of his arms. In the hand not currently bawled up into a fist he held the uniform's helmet. His face bore a slight look of surprise at the door having been flung open before he had the opportunity to knock. But the surprise faded quickly, and was soon replaced by polite curiosity. "Excuse me, but is this John and Cameron's house?"

Sarah just stared at the kid strangely for a second, not quite sure what to make of him. He didn't carry himself like a terminator, yet he was covered in blood, and asking for her son. Then Sarah decided that cautious inquiry would be the best way to resolve the issue at hand. She reached behind her, pulled her Glock back out, and leveled it at the kid. They were already leaving for good, and there was little point left in being subtle. "Who are you, and what do you want with my son," the woman demanded, not asked, with all the authority of a lioness protecting her cubs.

The teen just sighed at the gun. And then, faster than could be seen by the human eye, pulled it out of Sarah's hands. "Sorry, not really in the mood for threats right now," he replied almost tiredly the initial courtesy of his tone having faded with the sudden appearance of the side arm.

"John, RUN!" Sarah yelled as she positioned herself in front of the teen, who she was now all but convinced was some new form of infiltration model.

"Jason?" her son called out in surprise as he disobediently poked his head around the kitchen corner to find out what was happening with his mother.

And Sarah just stared dumbly once again as she became aware of the fact that her son knew this intruder... and didn't seem to be afraid of him. "Who are you?" she finally asked.

* * *

Well, hope you all enjoyed the third chapter, made up with contents taken from the original third and forth. ;)

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St. Thomas.


	4. Chapter 4: Time War

**Chapter 4: Time War.**

"I'm the guy who just went the full fifteen rounds with a flesh covered 'Cyberman'," Jason stated as he stepped further into the house, moving around Sarah, who was still trying to process everything that she'd discovered in the last five minutes. "And I'd like someone to fill me in on what exactly is going on here."

"How do you know where we live?" John asked.

"I asked."

"No, you didn't."

"Not you," Jason replied as he reached into the helmet and pulled out a metal skull, placing it in John's hands.

"Exterminate, exterminate," it insisted in a mechanical voice as its eyes glowed.

John's reaction was immediate. He yelled in shock and dropped the terminator's head as if it was on fire. A metallic thud sounded as the skull impacted the tiled floor, then it rolled a short distance... only to be stopped by Jason's foot.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" Sarah bellowed at the kid.

"As I said, I want an explanation. I think that, after ripping that thing's head off, I deserve one," he replied with a shrug.

"You ripped off a terminator's head?" Sarah asked suspiciously, finding the teen's claim a little hard to swallow.

"Nah, I won it at the state fair. I made the little weight go all the way to the tippy top and rang the bell. And, for my prize I selected the, highly popular, decapitated robot head toy," Jason replied sarcastically.

And Sarah, already stressed by their situation and not at all appreciating being mocked in her own house by some snot-nosed teen, was just about to snap back when Cameron interrupted, "This exchange is slowing us down. We need to leave... _now_."

"Just hold on a minute," Jason countered. "No one's going anywhere until I get an explanation."

Cameron pumped her shotgun, locking the first slug in place and leveled the barrel at the kid. "Please step aside."

Jason sighed again. "What is it with you people and guns? Look, I don't want another fight. I just want to know what's going on. But, if you think I'm going just let you all skip town and leave me with a decapitated robot skull, a torn up school, and no explanation, well then you've got another think coming."

"Cameron, stand down," John ordered as he moved to star her in the eye. And after a moment's hesitation, she obeyed and lowered the gun. "Good. Now, if Jason took care of the terminator, we don't have to run," he continued.

Sarah thought it odd that her son seemed perfectly willing to accept the idea that this kid ripped off a terminator's head. She supposed that having the head with him did lend some credibility to the kid's claim. Even still, she found it a hard pill to swallow. How could some teenager have possibly managed a feat like that?

"Cromartie and the others are still out there," Cameron countered. "Even if this terminator no longer presents a threat, they do. Our cover has been blown. We must leave."

"Wait, did you say others?" Jason interrupted, "You mean there are more of these things?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"How do we know that?" John cut back in. "Maybe the others don't know about us."

Sarah's son had been moving around since his birth, and she knew that he hated being constantly uprooted. But he also understood the necessity of it, and it was rare to hear him protest this much. "John, this isn't even the one that's been hunting us. If this terminator knows, than the others do too."

"You don't know that!"

"You're right. I don't know. We can't know, but we can't take the chance."

"Why don't we just ask it," Jason piped in.

"What makes you think it will tell us?" Derek replied, finally coming into the kitchen... with two suitcases stuffed with weapons and a duffle bag filled with ammo slung across his back.

"It told me where to find you. Didn't it?" Jason answered as he stooped down to retrieve the decapitated skull. "All right, Yorick, it's time for us to have another little 'chat'."

"This unit is identified as Carter, not Yorick," the terminator responded, obviously not getting the kid's Shakespearian reference.

"Alright, Carter. Do the others know about John?" Jason continued, but the skull didn't answer. "What, cat got your tongue?"

"This unit is not programmed to divulge pertinent information to organic life forms, except in the course of furthering an objective."

"Then why'd you tell me where John lives?" Jason asked, sounding a little confused by the machine's apparent change of heart.

"Based on observed patterns of organic behavior, this unit projected a nine point two percent chance that you would desire revenge on John Connor and his protector unit for abandoning you during your battle against this unit. And based upon information gathered during our battle, this unit projected a eighty-seven percent chance that, if you were after revenge, that you would be able to terminate John Connor before his protector unit could stop you. Therefore this unit divulge the location of John Connor's residence in the hopes that you would terminate him, thus allowing this unit to complete its primary objective by proxy." After giving this explanation, the terminator's eyes grew dull, and it failed to responded to any further inquires.

And eventually, Jason gave up and turned to John. "Sorry, guess he's not going to tell us after all."

But a light flashed behind John's eyes. "Oh yes he is. Cameron, pull Carter's chip and meet me upstairs."

"We don't have time to wait around for hours while you hack a terminator's chip," Sarah replied.

"It won't take me hours. I've been in and out of Vick's chip enough times now to have the basics down. I've got a pretty good idea of how they prioritize and save their information. I'll be in and out in fifteen minutes... tops."

"If the metal's are coming after us, John, that's fifteen minutes too long," Derek cut in solemnly.

"And if they're not and we run, then we're throwing away the best chance we have of stopping Judgment Day. Every lead we've got on Sarkissian is here. Guys, all I'm asking for here is fifteen minutes, just a quarter of an hour, for the chance to save _billions_ of lives."

Sarah sighed and closed her eyes. "Alright, John, fine. Fifteen minutes - and not _one_ second more."

John nodded and ran up the stairs, Cameron following behind him with the disembodied metal skull. "I knew it was a mistake to return here," she commented before disappearing from sight.

Jason turned to Sarah. "I'm still waiting on that explanation, and it appears that we have the time now."

And the latter thought about how best to explain what was going on, how many lies to mix with the truth, and exactly how much information was too much. "The machine you destroyed is called a terminator. It's part of a top secret government experiment. They're being built to replace our soldiers on the front lines, but some of them have gone... 'screwy'. They started to develop personalities. Carter is a Mr. Hyde personality. We think Cameron is a Dr. Jeykall. We hope so anyway."

"I see, and Carter was after your son because?"

"He wasn't. He was after Cameron. The Hydes don't care much for the Jeykalls, an-"

"Just how thick do you think I am?"

"Sorry?"

"That unit was after your son, not the girl. It identified John as its primary target and only went after Cameron or I when we got in the way. And your son mentioned something about a judgment day and saving billions of lives. Now, I like to consider myself a reasonable and open minded kid, but I don't appreciate being lied to - especially by people I'm sticking my neck out for. So, either you start being straight with me or I'm going to drag you, your son, and that severed head down to the police station and let them try to sort it all out."

Sarah scowled at the kid, but his threat of involving the authorities was just enough incentive to make her willing to try telling him the truth. She still didn't completely trust him, but the last thing she wanted was to get the cops involved... especially with her family's record. If their cover wasn't blown, an investigation would do so in a minute. And, if it was, then they certainly didn't need the LAPD and FBI on their trail as well as the machines.

So Sarah chanced telling Jason the truth... just not the whole truth. She told him about Judgment Day, about the nuclear missiles wiping out billions in seconds. She told him how those who died in the nuclear inferno were the lucky ones, that their part was over and their souls could find peace. The survivors would face a greater horror. She told the kid about the war with the machines, about her son's destiny, how he would be the one to unite the humans and give them hope when there was nothing else left, that he'd teach them how to fight and turn them from refugees into soldiers, soldiers who would eventually turn the tide and beat back the endless night. And she told Jason how the war of the future had spilled over into the past and present, told him about Skynet's final trump card, the machines sent back in time to change history and prevent the human resistance from winning in the end... or even from ever forming in the first place. And finally she told him about the few resistance fighters that her son was able to send back from the future, time agents who could never go home and who's only remaining purpose in life was to protect humanity as best they could from an enemy no one even knew existed.

But she didn't tell him that, because she once tried to stop Judgment day by blowing up a computer lab, she'd been declared insane . She didn't tell him that after escaping from the asylum, she nearly killed Dyson, the man originally responsible for building Skynet, or that Dyson and her eventually teamed up. She kept the secret of the brave man's great sacrifice to destroy the research destined to give birth to Skynet. She didn't tell him that they'd already postponed Judgment Day once, that time was not a straight line of cause to effect, that the future could be altered and they'd proven it. Nor did she mention that the cops blame her for Dyson's death, that she was on the run from the FBI, or that her and her son had time jumped over eight years to remain undetected. Most of all she didn't let on that John's very existence was the result of a paradox, that his future-self sent a solder back to protect her from a terminator and that the two had fallen in love and that soldier had been John's father.

And as the mother of the future savior of humanity finished relating the history of things to come, she reflected that the boy still standing in her kitchen took it all surprisingly well. He didn't argue, didn't try to cling to the delusion that such things were impossible. Nor did he panic. He didn't even throw up, as Dyson had when he'd come to know the truth. Instead Jason merely bent his head in solemn understanding... and perhaps a moment of silence for those who'd already lost their lives fighting for a better tomorrow and those whose lives still hung in the balance.

Then he whispered a line that Sarah thought she recognized, though she didn't know from where. "Then man made the machine, in his own likeness. Thus did man become the architect of his own demise." The lad shook his head sadly then raised it to star into the older woman's eyes, "So, how do we stop it?"

"We find the Turk," Derek answered as he took a bite from the sandwich he'd grabbed out of the fridge back when Sarah first began her story.

"Who's the Turk?" Jason asked, turning his attention towards the soldier of the future.

"It's not a who. It's a what," Derek replied as he put the sandwich down for a minute. He took a swig of milk and then continued, "The Turk is the computer that Skynet will be built off of. We find it. We destroy it, and Skynet will never exist."

"Sounds good," Jason replied. "But what about the guy who made it?"

"He's not a problem."

"Why not? Can't he just make another one?"

"No. He's dead"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "How'd he die?" And Sarah caught the note of suspicion in the kid's question.

Derek opened his mouth to answer, but Sarah preempted him. "Sarkissian's men killed him."

"Sarkissian? That's the guy that John mentioned you had leads on, right?" Jason eyed the older woman warily.

But Sarah didn't blink. "Yes. His men stole the Turk and killed its creator," she replied without missing a beat.

Jason still seemed a little suspicious, though Sarah had no idea why. It was a perfectly probable lie as far as she was concerned.

"And who exactly is Sarkissian?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out. We know that he's part of a criminal organization. He seems to be in charge, but we're not sure. We don't know how large the group is or if there is someone above him."

Just then John came back down the stairs, looking rather pleased. There was no smile on his face, nothing quite so obvious, but Sarah knew her son well and could detect the subtle shift in his mood by the simple way he carried himself. He was lighter, less burdened, and she was happy for him. It wasn't often that Lady Luck smiled upon them. "They don't know. Do they?"

"Nope, Carter never informed the other terminators of his discovery. After looking through some of the files in his chip, I think that he was too proud to take the chance of another terminator swooping in and stealing his kill."

"A proud terminator?" Sarah asked, having never imagined one of the machines being capable of such a human emotion.

"Yeah. I don't know if it's something inherent in his particular model or a glitch that he developed because his chip is set to read/write instead of just read, but he's definitely prideful. He' doesn't seem to care too much for the other terminator models either, seams to resent being replaced by the 888s."

And Sarah chanced a half smile. She was both relieved and pleased that their cover hadn't been blown. Their life here might not of been normal, but it was probably the closest thing to normal that her son was ever going to get... well, unless they really did ever manage to prevent Skynet's rise and change the future of humanity. "Well now that we've got the information we needed from Carter's chip, it's time to burn it up."

"The chip is more valuable intact. We can use it for more information," Cameron protested.

"No way. You've already got Vick's chip. We're not starting a collection here. We burn the chip and the skull... immediately."

"What about the body?" Derek asked.

"It's back at the school," Jason answered

"You just left it there! Of all the stupid," Sarah replied, hardly believing that the kid had just left a decapitated terminator body lying around in a government building... even if it was just a school.

"Hey, cut me some slack. I didn't know what was going on. What's the difference anyway? Without its head, it's just a hunk of metal. Right?"

"If discovered by the wrong people, a single piece of a terminator can hasten the arrival of Judgment Day," Cameron informed before Sarah had the chance to.

And the latter pinched the brim of her nose. "Alright, Derek, go back to the school with Jason and retrieve the body."

"I'll be faster on my own. I'll have it here in five minutes," Jason responded.

Sarah found that hard to believe. "It's a thirty minute drive back to the school. How are you going t-" she responded, turning in the direction of Jason's voice, but the latter had already disappeared, leaving behind him nothing but a 'whoooossing' sound and a gust of wind that blew Sarah's hair into her face.

"I've observed that he is quite fast," Cameron commented as Sarah began to spit and brush the hair out of her face.

"No kidding."

* * *

It was just over five minutes later when Jason returned, carrying a mangled terminator endoskeleton and several severed parts. "I'm pretty sure that I got them all."

"Pretty sure?" Sarah questioned, then ordered Cameron to carefully examine the remains and make sure that the speedy teen hadn't forgotten anything. And as the terminator set about her task, the mother turned back to her son's new friend. "Did anyone see these?"

"Almost, there was a news van parked outside the school; but I got to the pieces before they found any."

"Could they have seen you picking the pieces up?"

"I don't think so. I was moving pretty fast. Even if they did catch me, I wouldn't have looked like anything more than a blur on their digital cameras."

And Sarah nodded, satisfied in the kid's assessment. After all, if he ran twenty miles, gathered up the remains and got back, all in five minutes, he must have been going at a pretty good clip. So she walked over and checked on Cameron's inspection.

And while the two women were examining the wreckage, Derek moved closer to their house guest. He seemed somewhat impressed by the damage that the kid had managed to inflict on the terminator. "You really did all that?"

Jason grinned. "Well... most of it. Cameron got in a few hits before her and John escaped."

Derek let out a grunt of approval. "Could've used a kid like you back in my old War Dog unit."

And Sarah, equally impressed with the feat and more than a little curious, looked up from the pile of twisted metal. "Were did you get your abilities?"

The kid fidgeted slightly, "I... I inherited them. I'm... Superman's son."

"No way!" John exclaimed, seeming rather excited by the revelation, not that his mother was surprised. The Man of Steel had always been one of her son's favorite superheroes.

Sarah, on the other hand, wasn't quite so ready to accept their guest's claim. Though she supposed it would explain a few things. "How'd that happen?"

"Well you see, when a man and a women love each other very much…"

"Don't get cute," the older woman cut the teen off. "I mean Superman was an alien, right? The sole survivor of a dead world. He was suppose to be the last of his kind. Where did you come from?"

"My mum's human. I'm a hybrid, half Kryptonian and half human."

"I didn't know that Kryptonians and humans were compatible that way."

"To tell the truth, I'm not sure they knew either."

"Wait a minute. You're half Kryptonian, and you're on the school football team?" Derek cut in. "Well, I know how we can get some more quick cash if we need it... assuming we can find a bookie who covers high-school football.

Jason laughed. "Might want to wait a bit before you start placing bets. I'm not on the football team. My clothes were shredded in the fight. So It was either find something in the school to wear, or show up at your door naked. I think I made the right choice."

"True, it would be rather difficult to explain the sudden appearance of a naked, teenage boy outside our house," Cameron cut in as she stood up from her inspection. "It's all here."

"You're sure," Sarah asked.

"Quite sure. Every nut, bolt, and transistor has been accounted for."

"Good," Sarah replied. "Then lets burn it."

* * *

The family gathered in the garage and laid Carter's mangled remains in the same pit they'd built for Vick. Cameron spread the Thermite powder, one of the few substances that burned in excess of 2,500 degrees ferinheight, hot enough to dissolve the coltan endoskeleton. Sarah could hear the rain falling lightly all around them, the storm starting to let up, and she briefly wonder if that was some sort of a sign.

Cameron touched off the powder, and Sarah felt a cool breeze across her arm. She looked up to find Cameron casting a stray glance at their new recruit. _'Most likely trying to gauge his possible contributions to the team, and whether or not she can take him if he ever turns against us,'_ Sarah thought. Then she turned back to the metal skeleton and watched as the body of the machine was consumed in flame. She could only hope that they were successful in the long run, that they were able to find the Turk and stop Skynet's construction. Because if they couldn't, than soon, their whole world was destined to share the same fate as the empty husk vanishing beneath the fire.

* * *

Well, hope you all enjoyed the forth chapter, might be a little bit before I get another one posted. I've got another fanfiction, I need to work on over the weekend. So this is probably it until sometime next week. Well, hope you enjoyed.

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St. Thomas.


	5. Chapter 5: The White HouseHold

**Chapter 5: The White House-Hold**

AN: This story is being cowritten by Metropolis Kid and Chris St. Thomas. The perspective for this chapter will switch back to Jason.

After the Connor's concluded their cremation ceremony, Jason headed home. He could've reached his house in just under four minutes, if he'd really applied himself. But there was no rush, now that the immediate problem was dealt with, so he took his time instead. It was a good way to adjust and decompress a little before arriving at his house and launching himself into the complicated explanation of what his first day at his new school had been like.

As Jason headed home, he noticed that the clouds had finally broken, and the sun was shining brightly once more. At last he was able to absorb some undiluted rays, and it was a good thing too. The fight against Carter had depleted a lot of the kid's energy reserves, and it would've taken several more hours to replenish them, had the spitting rain and cloud cover continued. But now, Jason was free to bathe in the sunlight, and recover from his previous exertions.

He was only a few miles from home now, and decided to sprint the rest of the way. Accelerating to just under Mach One, Jason could feel a slight vibration in his bones as he approached the sound barrier and the world around him slowed to a crawl. He leapt over speeding cars and unsuspecting citizens' heads, no one noticing anything more than a pick up in the wind as he passed them on his way home.

Jason reached the apartment building his family was staying in. The realtors back East hadn't been able to sell the house back in Metropolis yet. Jason suspected this was primarily due to the fact that there probably weren't a whole lot of people itching to move to a city that'd had about a quarter of its land mass recently converted to rubble. Whatever the reason, the old family home hadn't sold and so his parents lacked the money necessary to buy a new one.

As Jason entered the family's apartment, he found his dog eagerly anticipating his return. The furry beast was laying on the entranceway carpet, and his head instantly perked up as the door emitted a slight squeak that only he and his master could hear. The dog moved over to his master and licked the latter's hand, and Jason stopped to greet his pet. The teen bent down and patted the German Shepherd and smiled. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you, Krypto old boy?" The grey-streaked, aging companion let out an affirmative bark, and Jason rubbed his belly. "Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?"

Once the boy and his dog were finished saying hello to each other, Jason began to move unto the rest of his family, Krypto trailing behind him as he walked to the main living area of the apartment. Jason's mom was already in the room, typing away on her Netbook and occasionally pausing to double check her digital work against the notes she'd taken. They'd only been in town a couple of days, but Ace Reporter Lois Lane, had never been one to ease into a change. And now that the family had moved she was surrounded once more by people who only knew her by reputation (which was simply people talking), people to whom she'd have to demonstrate just how well earned that reputation was. Still, the frantic typing ceased, the career woman temporarily taking a back seat to the mother, as Lois heard her son's approaching footfalls.

"When I came to pick you up, they said you were in detention. Do you want to tell m-" she began before the sight of her son hit her like a ton of bricks and the focus of the conversation sharply shifted. "Oh God! What's happened to you?"

Lois ran to Jason, who seemed a little taken back by her reaction. But then he remembered that he hadn't done a proper cleanup after the fight, and his head was likely still splattered with dried blood, dirt, and flakes of debris from the school. "Don't worry. I'm sure I look a lot worse than I actually am," Jason attempted to reassure, but his mother paid him no heed while she continued to examine him for cuts, bruises, broken bones, and other injuries that might explain his appearance.

"Really, Mom, a lot of the blood isn't even mi-"

Jason was suddenly cut off as his mother hollered for her husband. "Richard!"

"Yeah?" Richard answered as he too entered the main living area. "Jason! What the... Are you okay? What happened, Son?" Richard called out upon seeing the state of his child and then rushed over to join the worried mother in her examining.

"Really, guys, I'm fine. I got in a little fight at school. But I'm all healed up now - _really_," Jason explained, once more attempting to reassure his parents that everything was alright. He mentally kicked himself for not cleaning up before coming home. He should've known better... especially after what they'd just saw happen to his father. Kryptonian blood was no guaranty of survival, and now his parents knew that. It was only natural that they'd be concerned upon seeing him in such a state. Even still, he eventually managed to get his parents to sit down and listen to him.

And that's when he launched into the tale of his most unusual first day at the new school. Jason told his parents about the fight with the pack of punks, feeling a little embarrassed at his overreaction and the disapproving look his dad gave him for allowing the would be bullies to push his buttons like that. Then the tale moved on to the Morse Code conversation in detention and the fight with Carter. And it finally culminated in the discussion back at John's house.

The lad could tell that the whole Judgment Day thing threw his parents for a bit of a loop. His mother's reporter's instincts kicked in, and, in less than a minute, she fired off about twenty questions that her son couldn't answer - half of which he'd wished he'd thought to ask the Connors. Although, he wasn't sure how likely he would've been to have gotten a straight answer on any of them.

Jason knew that Sarah had been holding things back... if not outright lying about some of the family's back-story. Although a teen and only half-Kryptonian, Jason had already manifested one super-human sense. His hearing was nearly as acute as his father's had been. Truth be told, like most teenage males, Jason would've preferred X-Ray vision over Superhearing if he'd been given the choice. But Lady Luck had not been so kind to him, and he'd learned to make the best out of what he had. Through practice, he'd learned how to defocus his super-human hearing and listen to an entire city, then tune into specific voices and track down those he was familiar with. He could find almost anyone he knew - provided they were within the city's limits - in a matter of minutes. And he could listen the heart beat of those around him and detect the subtle shift in their pulse when they were being less than truthful. He could also develop a splitting head-ache whenever he took Krypto to the park and some sadistic, little kid insisted on repeatedly blowing into his dog whistle... but then no gift came without its consequences.

Lois suddenly ceased her questioning and fixed a strong stare on her son. And he knew what was coming next, for the stare was very different from the one his mother used when probing a source for information. The ace reporter had taken a backseat to the overprotective mother once more, and the stare was that type which only a mother was capable of. "You're planning on helping them, aren't you?"

Jason simply nodded.

"Of all the- They leave you to deal with a rampaging battle droid - which nearly kills you - and _now_ you're going to risk your life by helping them!"

Richard shifted nervously in his chair. And Jason could hear his dad's pulse quicken, just as it always did when his wife flew into one of her tangents. However, Jason's dad wouldn't say anything. At least, not right away. No, he'd wait for his wife to calm down before giving his opinion. One didn't share a bed with Lois Lane for more than a decade without learning how to react to the woman's passions. It was fruitless to interject anything but unconditional agreement when Lois was on a tangent. Better to wait until she calmed down, and was ready to listen.

Jason, however was a teen, and every bit as passionate and unbridled as his mother. Lacking the wisdom to wait for the opportune moment, like his dad was doing, the lad continued to make his case. "Mom, they need me. We're talking fate of the world here."

"Do you have any idea how tired I am of hearing shi- ... 'stuff' like that? You stuck up Kryptonians think that humanity just can't get along without you. Well we managed for five thousand years before your father came along. _They_ don't need you. _I_ need you. You're _my_ son."

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but his mom continued, cutting him off before he had the chance to get anything out. "Screw the world!" Lois exclaimed. And then her jaw moved, but no words flowed from her mouth. She forced herself through some deep breathing exercises and tried to calm down, the pained look on her face finishing the statement she just barely managed to restrain. '_It's taken enough from me already.'_ She'd never say that out loud, not in front of Richard or Jason... or anyone else. However, her son could see the emotion in her eyes. She'd never stopped loving his father, not really.

She loved Richard too, but it was a different sort of love. Richard was her husband and a good one too. He could make her laugh. He was always there for her whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was a good man, and he'd been a terrific dad to Jason and loved the child as if he were his own. And Lois loved him as a wife loved her husband.

But Jason's father was something different. He was a fantasy; a wonderful, idealized, fantasy... though one Lois knew she could never really call her own. In many ways he was the perfect man; tall, handsome; strong; moral; always honest; always willing to put others before himself. Yet though it was this perfection which drew Lois to him, she knew that it was also what would always come between them. For he was not hers, could never be hers. Superman belonged to the world. The world would always need him, and he'd always leave her to save others.

He'd save her too, but a woman eventually reached a point in her life when she wanted more from a man than someone to swoop in and catch her when she was falling from a building... or take her dancing among the clouds. She wanted a man who would be there, sitting across from her, at the kitchen table every morning. A man who she could count on to spend her yearly vacations with... and one who'd not disappear in the middle of a candlelight diner to go stop an avalanche in the Andes. She wanted a man who would be hers, and that was not Superman. It was Richard. And she would not spit upon everything that they'd built together by admitting to the fact that her heart still belonged to another as much as it did to him.

But though her mouth would not speak the words, her eyes betrayed the emotions behind them as she pleaded for her son to not walk his father's path. "Can't you just live a normal life? Can't you just be my son?"

Jason bit his lip then hung his head, unable to maintain eye-contact with his mother as he answered. "No, Mom, I can't. I'll always be your son, but I can't hide behind a 'normal life'... not anymore. The world needs... I... I have to help."

Lois didn't reply. She just turned and stormed out of the room. Then, once she'd hidden herself from the others, Jason heard her begin to softly weep. And as his mother wept, he just continued to stare down at the floor. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see his dad standing by his side. "I didn't think she'd be this upset."

"She's just afraid of losing you. We both are."

"You don't want me to do this either, do you?"

Richard sighed. "Son, I'm going to tell you the same thing my uncle told me when I wanted to enlist in the Air Force. 'What I want isn't important here. When you choose to fight for something, the opinions of others never are. 'Cause when it comes right down to it, they're not going to be out there with you. You and your unit are going to be all alone. The only question that you should be asking is if this is something that you're truly willing to fight for. Is it worth dying for? Is it worth killing for?'"

"Dad, this is something that I have to do. Yes, I'm willing to fight; and, if I have to, I'm willing to die."

"That's only two out of three you know," Richard replied staring into his son's eyes.

"I... don't know." The truth was Jason had killed before. He'd taken his first life back when he was only five. A thug was chasing his mother. And, terrified, Jason had thrown a piano at the man, crushing him. It was the first time the boy had ever used his powers, and the memory of that event haunted him still. But it was not the only time he'd resorted to the lethal option.

Many years later he'd lost control of himself and exterminated two groups of zombies during an un-dead outbreak. Jason still wasn't quite sure if that should truly qualify as killing, since his victims were already technically dead. But they moved, eat, suffered, and Jason had learned that even among the undead the possibility for goodness and righteousness still existed. So it qualified as far as he was concerned.

Yes, Jason had killed before, but each death had left its own scars upon the young man's soul and he was not sure how many more such wounds he could take before he lost himself to the abyss. "I'll fight... and I'll die if need be. Isn't that enough?"

Richard stared off at the wall, though he looked as if he were seeing through it, beyond it, watching something play out somewhere on the other side. "I hope so son. I hope so," the man replied a little distantly before snapping back to the here and now. "Killing is a horrible thing; but if it ever comes down to you or them..." His voice trailed off for a moment before he began again. "just do everything you can to come back to us."

"I will. I promise. But I need to do this."

"Well then, Son, I'll support you all the way." Jason's dad pulled him into a hug and pat his son on the back. "I'll go talk with your mother, while you get yourself cleaned up."

Jason left his mom to his dad and headed to his own bedroom. Once within, he reached up one of the sleeves of his borrowed uniform and pulled out the shredded remains of what had once been his commemorative T-shirt. He laid the remains out on his bed and unraveled them to reveal the silicon and steal prize within: Carter's chip. Then Jason opened up a drawer in his nightstand and pulled out the Nintendo DS that his parents had given him for his twelfth birthday.

The lad may have been willing to fight and die to prevent Judgment Day, but he wasn't about to just blindly follow John and his family - not when he knew that they were keeping things from him. Besides, like his great uncle Perry always said, "Good reporters get their information from more than one source."

Jason took the DS apart, disconnecting its processor and WiFi components. Then he inserted Carter's chip and began to hook it up. He was no hacker. In fact, how anyone could wrap their heads around a world that existed only as fluctuating information, Jason had no idea. But, he did enjoy working on the hardware side of things. It was relaxing... and he was pretty good at it too. Yup, nothing quite took the edge off after a stressful day like cannibalizing parts from three or four busted electronic devices and using them to construct one operational unit.

The kid finished integrating the terminator chip into his DS and turned it on. The lower screen turned red, and he could hear Carter's voice come through the DS's internal speaker. "What has happened to this unit?"

"I've integrated your chip into a portable entertainment system."

"Why?"

"Because the Connors destroyed your body. They were going to destroy your chip as well. I plucked it out of the pit before the flames could reach it." Jason had made sure to move very quickly, far too quickly for the human eye to track... though he suspected that Cameron may have seen what he'd done. She had given him a bit of an odd look afterwards. And, while fighting Carter, Jason had discovered that a terminator's vision was much faster than a human's.

"Why would you do that?"

"I think that you may still have some value. Cameron said that your chip contained important information."

"This unit is not programmed to divulge relevant information to organic life forms, except in the course of furthering an objective."

Jason scratched his head as he tried to get inside the thought process of a killing machine sent back from the future. "Yes. I know. You've already said that. But just what are your objectives?"

"This unit is not programmed to divulge relevant information to organic life forms, except in the course of furthering an objective."

"I guess that's your version of name, rank, and serial number, huh? Well, fine. Don't talk. Just listen." The kid stood up and began to pace. It was a simple action, but it helped him organize his thoughts. The DS was still in his hand. "Whatever your objectives are, you can't complete them if you're destroyed. And if you don't keep me convinced that you have some worth, I'll have no reason to keep you around, right? Therefore, divulging relevant information to me _is_ in the course of furthering your objectives."

"This unit only projects a 0.23 percent chance that it can still complete any of its objectives."

Jason took note of the fact that Carter's last statement wasn't just the standard reply. The machine was thinking about the kid's argument, trying to decide if it had any merit. "Well 0.23 percent is better than nothing. Your own programming requires that you continue to attempt to complete your objectives, doesn't it? And, in order to do that, you must continue to exist. In order for you to continue to exist, you must keep me convinced that you have some worth."

This time Carter didn't respond, and Jason wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but he figured he couldn't lose in giving his words more time to sink in. "I'll give you some time to think about it."

Jason put the DS on his nightstand and got out some clean clothes. Then he headed to the bathroom. He placed the clean clothes next to the sink, went over to the shower, and turned the hot water up all the way. Then he peeled off his borrowed uniform, threw it into one of the corners and stepped into the shower.

The water was hot, scalding in fact, and if Jason had been a normal human, he'd have been instantly forced out of the stream. But he wasn't a normal human, and the scalding water was just what he needed to wash the day's dirt, grime, and blood from his body and help him relax his mind a little.

Though she hadn't been completely honest with him, Jason did know that Sarah had told him the truth when it came to Judgment Day, and that was the reason he'd agreed to help them. Through this he had the chance to save billions of lives, a chance to perhaps help atone for his previous neglect.

When Doomsday struck, Jason had done little to help. Sure, he'd thrown on an old Halloween costume and ran around assisting in some of the Metropolitan relief efforts. He'd pulled a few people from the rubble and helped to put out some fires, but he knew that he could've done more... should've done more. He should've helped his father fight that monster. He could see that his father was having trouble, but he still stayed on the sidelines. He was afraid. Everyone in Metropolis was afraid of Doomsday. The monster just beaten the Justice League to a pulp.

Jason wished he'd had the same courage as the League members. They were all lying broken, nearly dead, in the wake of Doomsday's rampage; but at least they fought. At least they tried to stop that monster. Even Bruce, a complete human, stood up to it. And Jason found himself wishing that he'd picked up more than a couple of fighting moves from his godfather. He wished that he'd gotten some of the man's bravery and determination as well.

Maybe then he would've joined in the fight, and maybe that would've been enough to tip the scales. Maybe his father would still be alive if Jason had lent him a hand. But such a life existed only in the realm of maybe.

For the simple truth was that Jason hadn't done all that he could've. When the moment of truth came, he'd panicked. He let his father down. But he wouldn't do so again. He may not have been able to bring his father back, but at least he could help complete his father's mission.

Kal-El had once told his son why his own father - Jor-El - had sent him to Earth. _"'They can be a great people... They only lack the light to show the way.' That's why your grandfather sent me here, to light the way to better days. That's my purpose in this life... and some day that purpose will fall to you. And when that day comes, just remember that you are my son, that you carry me within you... just as I carry my father within me. It may seem strange to you now, but someday you'll come to understand. And on that day, everything that I have - all my power, all my strength, all my experience, everything I feel - will be yours and the people of this world will have a new light to show them the way."_

To a five-year-old boy staring up at this man who could fly, the words seemed magical, and Jason remembered them still. But time and his own experience had taught him that he could never be the light to show the way. For to be the light, one had to be pure, and Jason knew that he was tainted. He was no ideal role-model. He was rebellious and defiant. He lost control too easily. He enjoyed the act of fighting, the excitement it brought him. And although he took no joy from killing, he had killed in the past, and he knew it was not completely beyond him to do so again. He was impure, and could never lead the way to brighter days. There was no longer a light to show the way, and Jason blamed himself for this fact.

But perhaps, just maybe, if he could keep humanity from destroying itself first they'd find their own light to follow. Perhaps they'd even find that light in this John Conner person. Jason didn't know, but what he did know was that he'd failed to act when the world was threatened by Doomsday, and he wasn't about to make the same mistake with Judgment Day.

The Teen of Steel finished his shower and changed into clean clothes, then he grabbed the football uniform and put it into the dirty laundry. He'd return it once it had been cleaned. His shower concluded, Jason moved back to his bedroom and got out a sewing kit. He sat down on his bed and began to examine the shredded remains of his T-shirt.

One of the summers he'd spent with Grandma Kent, she'd taught him how to sew. Lacking the experience of time, Jason, of course, wasn't nearly as good at it as she was, but he could work a lot faster. As he began, it entered his mind that it would probably be easier to just make a new shirt. But Jason dismissed the thought. A new shirt wouldn't have the same sentimental value this one did, and that sentiment was easily worth the extra time.

Even at super speed, it took a couple of hours before Jason was done. However, he still managed to finish before his mom called him down for supper. Neither of his parents were very good cooks. Scrambled eggs, sandwiches, grilled meat, and microwaving were about the extent of their combined culinary expertise. So, 'take out' had become one of the staples of the White household.

Tonight, it was Chinese, not exactly Jason's favorite. But there were a couple of dishes that he liked, and his mom absolutely loved the stuff. The family enjoyed a nice supper. Lois didn't say too much, but Jason could tell that she'd calmed down somewhat and guessed that Richard had managed to work on her a little bit while Jason had been knitting and interrogating cyborg assassins from the future. Jason was actually a little surprised that his dad had managed to calm his mother down as much as he had. She was notoriously stubborn, probably where Jason got it from, and it usually took her a lot longer to cool down.

After supper ended, and the three enjoyed the regular 'family time'... well, made the effort to enjoy it as much as they could given what the day had brought anyway. Then Jason headed back to his room once more. He talked to Carter again, and the machine informed the kid that it had decided to give him some information in return for its 'continued operation', but Carter made it clear that he wasn't about to give away any crucial data. That was fine. Jason didn't need to know the ins and outs of terminator construction. Such a thing might have proved interesting, but it was hardly essential. He just wanted some basic information on dates, times and events, just enough to help gage how much of what Sarah had told him about the future had been accurate... and maybe get some idea of what types of things she was holding back.

* * *

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St. Thomas.)


	6. Chapter 6: Forging Steel

**Chapter 6: Forging Steel**

AN: This chapter takes a bit of a wider view, to recap events from the Superman universe which brought us to where we currently find ourselves.

* * *

A muscular African-American set his T-Square and mechanical pencil down on top of the blueprints he'd been drawing and looked over at the clock. His first clue about just how late it was came when he had to squint to see the hands and read the numbers on its face. He looked back down at the latest sheet of drafting paper. He'd completed three more designs today and started another two. Mentally exhausting didn't begin to cover the work, what with everything that needed to be factored in, and the engineer decided that he'd better take a break before his brain turned completely to mush.

An all-night fitness club a couple of blocks away would still be open. The crisp, night air would do him good, as world the physical exercise. A good workout always helped him sort things out, and right now he really needed to do some sorting. The large man stood up, grabbed his apartment keys and cast one more, over-the-shoulder glance at the clock ticking away in his kitchenette. This time his eyes were even able to focus enough to make it out: two minutes before eleven.

He closed the door to his apartment gently, no sense disturbing the neighbors, and started walking. Absently his mind drifted to a movie from the 1990s: _Ground Hog Day_, the one where Bill Murray got stuck in the same snowed-in day in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, cursed to live the same day over and over again, never moving forward, never gaining any ground. The engineer's life had felt that way for almost three years now.

Instead of a tie and khakis with a white lab coat of his first career, the man now wore union coveralls to work. Instead of working in design lab, he did iron work, constructing skyscrapers. Riding the lifts up and down, he guided in the girders, anchored them in place...basically he did whatever job was asked of him. He could do them all, and most better than any of the other construction workers employed by the general contractor. Yet, where other men may have taken pride in such an accomplishment, Dr. John Henry Irons, Ph. D., only felt shame, like he was squandering his potential.

Up until a few years ago, John Henry had been a bio-mechanical engineer. He'd designed replacement limbs for injured soldiers... or that was what he thought he'd been doing. But that was before the nightmares had started. Premonitions – that's what old gypsy who lived on his block had called them. John told himself they were nothing more than the troubled manifestations of guilty conscience.

Still, he could not shake the feeling: there was more to nocturnal apparitions than met the mind's eye. He dreamed of machines that look like men. They came with red glowing eyes and shiny metal skeletons underneath synthetic skin. They came with arms and legs and spinal cords - the design of which were all too familiar. They came to steal his dreams. They came to grind his very soul beneath their chrome plated titanium heels and toes. Irons felt certain the dark places of his soul that one day such machines would come for everyone's dreams, unless...? Unless what? Until this very evening, he had not allowed himself to think that far.

One machine in particular haunted his rest relentlessly. With its huge pectoral muscles, biceps, and quads, it looked like a body builder. It had Teutonic cheekbones and an Austrian accent. John Henry could never quite make out everything it said, but he thought he heard, "John Irons, you must die!" The statement was always a little garbled in memory, the shadows of a dream fading as he jostled from sleep. But as he entered the gym, he felt certain the mechanical monster wanted his destruction... just as he was sure it would not stop there. No, it wouldn't stop; it would never stop, not until every man, woman, and child had been terminated and only the machines remained.

Those dreams shook him to the depths of his soul.

As he threw punches and kicks at the heavy bag in the boxing room at the all-night fitness club, John Henryremembered the day of the first premonition very clearly. He had just been looking through some research notes. Iron's superiors had called him into a meeting with the top brass of Defense Department's Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). The Agency had some early conceptual designs, from a cybernetics engineer named Dyson, that the brass needed finished and updated.

The designs were for titanium replacement arms, legs, and other body parts. Installed within mangled flesh, they could make a person whole again. There were even a few prototype designs for synthetic skin, that could be used to cover them up... if the General could ever get the bureaucrats in Washington to sign off on the single cell cloning procedure that would be needed to grow the stuff. But even without the artificial skin, the limbs would still work, and the victims of wars and tragic accidents could finally get their lives back.

John Henry had been thrilled when the General in charge of the whole Project had invited him to take the leader position on the Spinal Cord Development Team. He remembered thinking how many paraplegics, like Christopher Reeve (a favorite film actor from John Henry's youth, who'd played Captain America in the late 70s and early 80s), his work would help. He wondered at the many people would walk again because of his team's work. That was what John thought anyway.

Fortunately someone didn't check every single briefing slide in the old fashioned slide projector, and John Henry discovered the awful truth before completing the project. One of slides that slipped through had been above John Henry's security clearance. "Autonomous Weapons" the caption had read. They were fully independent combat endoskeletons, mechanical men based upon the designs John Henry and the others had been perfecting. Rather than helping the injured regain their lives, his team were designing killer machines - and, unlike guns, bombs and Predator drones- these machines would not relay on the judgment of one human being before taking the life of another. When the Autonomous Weapon slide went up, the head man canceled brief and sent everyone out of the conference room. Irons ran to the nearest trash can, lurched, and then saw his lunch for the second time that day. What he'd seen in that one slide made him feel exposed, frightened, chilled... pinned to a brick wall. He'd left his security badge at the guards' desk on the way out and never returned.

Irons had dropped out of sight and, until a few hours ago tried to deny the government secrets that haunted his dreams. A man in hiding, John Henry only used prepaid phone service, paid only in cash and his social security number had been "borrowed." The premature baby hadn't made it past infancy and wouldn't need the number any longer. Irons felt like a ghost, a phantom. But even a man without a life could still have a purpose.

John Henry's purpose had come to him just over a month ago. He'd been fifty floors up, working on one of Metropolis's ever growing number of sky rises. They were always building something new in that city, Metropolis, the Big Apricot. That was why John had moved there from LA, back when he first started his new life.

John Henry had been guiding in a beam, giving hand signals for the crane man when he looked over and thought he saw the killer machine from his nightmares, the skin covered one with the Austrian accent. It walked slowly, deliberately, down the strut towards him; and as Irons was supposed to be guiding the crosspiece into position, he freaked. He lost his balance and fell. His safety line malfunctioned. The line failed to catch, and he felt free fall. In resignation, John greeted Death as the street slowly drifted towards him.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, like a slow-motion scene in an action movie. John Henry had looked down. In the street below, Superman was locked in a life or death struggle with an ugly gray monster whose bones stuck out of its shoulders, neck, back, and fists. The monster had hit the Man of Steel with a wallup of a punch, knocked him up in the air, and Irons had locked eyes with the city's champion as they both fell together for a split second. Then the Son of Krypton had righted himself and flown over to pluck the steel worker from the clutches of death.

The Man of Tomorrow had set John Henry safely down on the ground, next to some teen in a Halloween costume. The young man had worn a suit of red and blue with white lines on it. And though, at the time, John had felt too stunned to realize (or even care) who the kid was impersonating, he now knew that it was a Spider-Man costume. A pretty decent one, too.

"You saved my life, Superman! Thank you!" John Henry exclaimed.

"Make it count for something," the Man of Steel replied in that quiet, assured way of his, like he had no doubt the human he'd just saved would do right by his fellow man. Then Superman flew away, and the kid hefted John over one shoulder and effortlessly carried the much larger man over to an ambulance where a medic flicked a light in his eyes, checked his pulse, and gave him an IV.

The youngster didn't sling webs or climb walls, but he was incredibly fast and unbelievably strong as he ran up and down the street, pulling casualties out of the rubble and grabbing more supplies for the medics. Restrained and fading in and out of consciousness, John Henry thought he heard one of the Rescue Squad members say something like, "Aren't you on the wrong side of the River, kid? Spider-man works in New York, not Metropolis."

The Metropolitans seemed perfectly willing to accept the loaned superhero though, as Metropolis's own champion was otherwise occupied at the moment, fighting for his life in a battle to turn back Doomsday itself. John could hear the crashing pops and painful cracks echoing between the towers of glass and steel as the medic treated him. Then a stunned hush descended over the whole of downtown as the bone-jarring sounds drifted into the distance.

A short time later a transmission came over the emergency band in the ambulance near where the medics were treating John. "Superman is down." The medics, the whole Rescue Squad froze.

Transmissions continued over the emergency band. "Lois Lane is running out of the crowd." Different voices descried what they saw.

"Hey Rookie! Let the lady through, and her photographer friend, too. Is Kent with them?" came the grizzeled voice of a veteran cop. He had no doubt cooperated with Lane, Kent and Olsen many times during the years they covered the Police Beat. They probably solved some cases together, too.

"She's calling for medics... Rescue Two go see what you can do."

"Superman's waived us off, sir. The Man of Steel is taking Miss Lane's hand and breathing his last."

Latter John would see Jimmy Olson's photos of Superman's Final Battle all over the newsstands and networks for days.

Superman was dead. So was the monster, Doomsday they called it, but the public hardly cared about the creature who had killed their beloved hero.

* * *

That day all mankind lost not just a hero who pulled cats out of trees. They lost not just a hero who stopped nuclear missiles from remodeling the western coastline of the U.S. They lost not just a hero who stopped super-criminals from his home-world. They lost a hero who fought twisted clones of himself and even took on a new identity to continue saving lives, to continue his Never Ending Battle for truth, justice, hope, and the American ideal. They lost a hero who still believed in them, even during times when they proudly proclaimed that they need him no longer and turned their backs on him.

Oh the world still had the rest of League (or would once the less hardy member got out of traction and the rest healed up). The Bat, the Fast Girl, the Amazon and even the Martian all suffered greatly from trying to stop Doomsday, and it would be sometime before the League would be truly active again. But they would recover. Among them, Superman alone had paid the ultimate sacrifice. Oddly enough, the Space Cop, Hal Jordan, had been off world on a mission for the Guardians during Doomsday's attack and was the lone member of the League currently on active duty.

But the rest would be back, though none of them could quite be what Superman was. He was an inspiration to them all, superhero and mortal man alike. He inspired working stiffs, and doctors, and scientists and engineers. He even inspired heads of state and could occasionally even reason with them and broker peace when even the UN had failed to do so. Yes, the world had lost more than a hero in Superman; it had lost its guiding light.

And no city was harder hit by the loss than Metropolis. In the wake of a disaster the likes of which the city had never seen before - right when its citizens should've been coming together to help one another out - crime was rising drastically and the police and emergency response teams were too busy cleaning up the mess to deal with it all. The 'small' crimes slipped through, and looting, theft, and assault were starting to run rampant. Instead of brotherhood, the city had fallen into chaos. Someone had to do something.

* * *

Since Superman saved him, John Henry Irons no longer dreamed nightmares every night, though the old hauntings still returned from time to time. But now the bad was mixed with good, and for every night he dreamt of his creations obliterating the human race, he also dreamt of a man in shinning silver armor, a new Man of Steel - not to replace the one who'd saved his life, but merely to honor his memory and, as best as possible, continue the strange-visitor-from-another-planet's mission here on Earth.

Shortly after Superman's death, John Henry had bought some architectural paper, drawing pencils, a compass, a T-square and built himself a slanted desk to draw at. Since that day, he'd given up double shifts on the high rise. And had instead turned as much attention as he could to adapting the technology - designed to kill - to save instead. If the government could build a cybernetic endoskeleton, John saw no reason he couldn't use a similar design to build a cybernetic exoskeleton every bit as capable. Only John's design would have something the military's lacked - a human heart and mind, a living pilot to drive its incredible power. And non-lethal weapons too, devices built to capture and restrain, not to kill.

About a week back, he'd shown some of the plans to a patent attorney from his church. And She hooked him up with Wayne Industries, the FBI, and the Metropolis Special Crimes Unit. Things were starting to look up... and then the other shoe came crashing down.

The gym John had jogged to, showed CNN and Metro News 1 along one wall, with ESPN and Fox Sports on the other. And while John was rushing back and forth from exercise machine to pull-up bar, etc, - like a lot of people, he hated waiting or standing in line and was always searching for the most available workout machine - a stray glance at one of the sets showing CNN captured the large man's full attention.

At first it looked like another school shooting, this time in LA instead of some small town no one had heard of before. This time, however, according to the reporter, the killer been stopped four lives into his 'killing spree'. He'd gunned down two guards, a teacher, and a department chairperson on his way to the detention hall, but there a couple of the students had fought back. And that's where the CNN report turned into something straight out of the un-eXplained Files.

The survivors were hysterical, and none could agree on exactly what happened. But several spoke of how fast one of the students - a male teen - had been and a couple of others talked about how strong the other student - a teenage girl - was. Many also agreed the assailant had what looked like a robotic arm. The screen changed to an artist's digital rendering of what the witnesses had described, and an insidious chill crept down John's back.

It was one of _his_ designs - back from his days at DARPA - only now it wasn't on some autonomous killing machine out in the Middle East. It was mowing down school kids and teachers in America's own backyard. He'd opened Pandora's box during his time at DARPA, and the wind had carried all the woes that had unleashed back home.

And suddenly, John Henryknew that he had to succeed, had to turn his dream of a new Man of Steel into a reality - not just to carry on Superman's Never Ending Battle for Truth and Justice, but to redeem himself as well. Someone needed to stop these killing machines, who looked too much like the 'Autonomous Weapons' concept drawings from that briefing room almost three years ago. Someone had to stop the nightmare before it got any worse. And that someone was John Henry Irons. Like his namesake, John was about to launch himself into an epic battle of Man vs. Machine... he only prayed he'd fair better in the end than the last John Henry did over a hundred and fifty years ago.

Deciding the workout could wait, John Henry ran back home. He drank a liter of water and mixed himself a protein drink for fuel. Then he returned to his slanted desk and continued his designs. The fatigue he felt earlier had fled, replaced by adrenaline and raw determination. The world needed a new Man of Steel, and it could afford to wait no longer.

* * *

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St Thomas.

* Chapter written by Chris St Thomas, with assistance provided by Dragonlots. Reworked and edited by Metropolis Kid and St Thomas.


	7. Chapter 7: Face Off

**Chapter 7: Face Off**

* * *

'_How did I get here'_

Most people John's age didn't ask themselves that question unless they'd gotten turned around in the mall and couldn't find the food court or the video arcade. But then John Connor wasn't like most kids his age; and, rather than lost in a mall, he was hunkered down in an ambulance waiting for Charlie - the only man who'd ever treated him like a real son - to save his life... not from some horrible accident that had struck out of the blue, but rather as part of a carefully designed plan. Yup, nothing in John's life was as simple as it appeared at first glance.

Take the girl sitting next to him. Jason had thought she was John's girlfriend. Morris Garbanzo, from John's auto shop class, thought she was his sister. Neither of these were true however; in fact she wasn't even human.

Sure, she had a pulse. John had even measured it in health class the day he'd met her in Red Valley, AZ. Yes, she practiced ballet to classical music in her room when she thought no one was watching. Yes, John had seen her stare at paintings on school trips to art museums and talk to their classmates and teachers about what message the painter was trying to communicate. She's even written a poem once.

Even still she wasn't human, and her soul, if indeed she had one at all, was a soul of silicone. Underneath the perfect skin of her beautiful body was not bone and freshly muscle, but a Coltan-alloy endoskeleton with mechanical muscles. Next to her small heart were not two large lungs but a single small one and several hydrogen powercells. Behind her bottomless brown eyes - that John sometimes caught himself getting lost in - and underneath her lovely brunette tresses - that she had to wash and blow dry like any normal girl - rested not a collection of brain cells and fluids, but a neural network processor, a learning computer.

In reality the young 'girl' sitting beside John wasn't his sister or his girlfriend. She's was his guardian, a killing machine reprogrammed and sent back through time by a future version of himself to insure that he lived to adulthood, all so he could one day lead the a human resistance in a war against the machines.

So how did John get here, sitting in this ambulance waiting for a paramedic who wanted to be his father to drive him to safety? Well, it started back in 1984, before John was even born. Like most people, John's mom and dad met and fallen in love. But that was where the similarity between him and most people ended. When one bothered to look a little deeper, things got more complex... really fast.

His mom didn't meet his father at a malt shop or school dance. She met him at a nightclub, typical enough. But she wasn't there to dance the night away. No, John's mother was waiting for the Police to take her into protective custody because someone was killing all the women in LA who had her name. The killer was moving methodically, killing 'his' victims in the order they were listed in the phone book.

And his dad didn't start things out by asking her to dance; he pumped five rounds into the 'man' who was trying to kill her. Except the man trying to kill her wasn't a man, and the five rounds succeeded only in slowing it down. It was a machine, a Terminator. It had no pulse, no heart, no brain, no love of music, no appreciation of art just a titanium endoskeleton with mechanical muscles covered in synthetic flesh and a neural network processor with just one thought: kill all the women in Los Angeles named Sarah Connor.

John's father - Kyle - did manage to keep Sarah alive, and they did fall in love and expressed that love in the usual way, an act that eventually led to John's birth nine months later. Yes, John's future self started things off by sending his dad back in time to keep his mom safe, knowing that that same mission would lead to his own birth. His whole life was the result of a time loop, just waiting to unravel.

His parents finally managed to take down the terminator chasing them, but not before it mortally wounded John's father. So, the story he always told people, the one about his dad being a soldier who died on a mission before he was born, was actually true... sort of.

The machines tried again in 1997 when John was thirteen and then once more in 1999 when he was fifteen. Both times John's future self sent a protector back through time to make sure that he survived. Evidently, in the future John would grow weary of sending human soldiers to their deaths, because the last two guardians were both terminators themselves, reprogrammed to protect him at all costs.

It was a bit of an odd choice as far as John was concerned. Send back reprogrammed versions of what they were fighting against to protect him? Though there was a certain symmetry to it, John supposed. After all, sometimes it took a thief to catch a thief.

Cameron shoved John's arm, breaking him out of his reverie. "I hear Charlie's footsteps and someone else's. Get ready. We may have to run."

The two crouched in the center of the ambulance, where they could see out the windshield and the back windows but no one glancing in would spot them, and waited.

As Charlie opened the front door of his Ambulance, a black man with very little hair and a goatee walked up. The new comer was wearing a gray suit, with a pale dress shirt and no tie. "Mr. Dixon," he greeted with a smile, "we meet again. What's it been, eight years?"

Unless he got riled up, Charlie didn't often say much to people he didn't know well, an admirable and desirable trait for one's confidant, friend... and occasional confederate. "Something like that, Agent Ellison."

"It's good to see you again." The Agent smiled and extended a hand.

The Paramedic choose not to take it. He presses his lips together instead and made it clear that he was in a hurry. "I have a sick kid in my bus. I have to go."

"So, if I open the back of this ambulance, I'm not going to find John Connor back there with his girlfriend?" Ellison pointed jovially with an open hand.

Charlie replied emphatically, "No, like I told you eight years ago, I don't know a John Connor. John Reese, though, he was like a son to me." Charlie was never loud, always very controlled, but his manner carried great emphasis. "And his mother Sarah Reese, who I asked to be my wife, was not like the Sarah Connor you described to me eight years ago: crazed, delusional and schizophrenic. She was kind, loving, generous and single minded.

"So, don't ask me again about any rogue Artificial Intelligence computer networks declaring war on the world and sending robots back through time to kill people. You were the first and only person to ever mention any of those things to me."

Ever jovial, Agent Ellison simply asked, "So you haven't had any contact with Sarah Connor recently?"

"Look, Agent Ellison. You're a nice guy, smart, polite, well spoken, but I've got a sick kid to take care of, and I have already answered that question to another agent working out of your office. Like I told him when he came by my house: the woman I knew eight years ago, _Sarah Reese_...she got blown up in a bank vault in 1999. It was on CNN. Maybe you saw it."

"I did see it on CNN, Fox News, too. The reports said Sarah Connor, her son John Connor and an unidentified female were attacked and blown up in a bank vault by a crazed, multiple amputee with artificial limbs."

"So then you know she's dead."

"Maybe yes, maybe no. There's a lot of things about this case that don't add up. Yet, I can't get past the feeling that it's only because I don't have all the numbers.

"Mr. Dixon, do you know what the shooting that took place here has in common with Sarah Connor's last day in 1999 and a old school shooting in Red Valley, Arizona?"

"I haven't a clue, Agent Ellison, not one." Charley switched his medical bag to the other arm.

The Agent's voice now carried some intensity as he continued, "The assailant in all three cases was reported to have one or more robotic limbs. I don't believe in coincidences. At least, not when they involve murder cases."

"John, that agent knows too much. He could be dangerous. I'm going to have to kill him," Cameron quietly informed.

"Have you still not figured it out? My last protector was with me for only a few weeks and he figured it out." John held a hand out, palm up, like he was gripping an invisible basketball. "You just can't go around killing people. Especially not FBI Agents."

"What about criminals," Cameron turned to John, momentarily distracted, and her face brightened, "can I kill criminals?"

"Ssshhhhh."

As the Paramedic reached for the door of the ambulance, the Agent posed one final question, "Did you say that another agent questioned you about Sarah Connor?"

"That's right. Don't you guys talk to each other?" Dixon tossed his medical bag into the front of his ambulance.

"Usually. But I'm the only agent assigned to this case." Ellison looked thoughtful and placed a hand on the back of his own neck. "Who was it?"

"Kestrel, maybe. Hold on I have his card in my wallet." Charley pulled out his wallet and removed the card. "Kester."

Ellison extended his hand. "Could I have that card?"

"Sure, I don't want it," Dixon answered as he handed the card over.

Ellison took the card carefully by its edge and placed it in a tiny zip lock bag. He sealed the bag. "Thank you Mr. Dixon. Thank you for doing your civic duty. I'll let you go now and take care of your sick kid. Take my card. When you're ready to talk, give me a call. We'll add up all of our numbers and see if we can't figure this whole thing out."

Charlie took the card, gave a flat smile and climbed up into the cab.

The paramedic drove a safe distance away before pulling into an all but abandoned parking lot and turning to his two young charges. "Okay now that we made it out safely, are either of you going to tell me just what the heck is going on here?"

John took a deep breath and let it out in a sharp sigh. " It started last night, when my new friend Jason White came over, again..."

* * *

It was just after midnight, the day following the blowout at the school, when Jason snuck out his window and ran over to the Connors to check on them. He found them packing up again and knew that they'd just caught the same news report he had, the one about the shootings and the fight at school, and they'd concluded, as he feared, that one of the Terminators would come for John.

"Wait!" Jason called in through the kitchen door. "I have an idea. I saw this in an episode of JAG. We make a John mask for me," the teen interjected.

"What?" Sarah exclaimed. She just stared for a second, her expression giving the impression that their guest had just sprouted a second head. Then she turned back to her family. "Everyone keep working."

Not one easily deterred, Jason kept trying to explain the half-formed plan he'd hastily thought up after seeing the news report . "No, look it's like..." He knew he was reaching as he grouped for some kind of example to give the Connors, and it suddenly hit him... "It'll be like that John Woo movie, _Face/ Off_ or something. You know, the one with Nicholas Cage."

Everyone stopped and looked at Jason. Sarah and John had varying degrees of horror on their faces. Evidently they remembered the movie where an FBI agent had impersonated a comatose terrorist by having his own face surgically removed and the villain's face attached in its place. Cameron and Derek just looked slightly confused. Apparently, watching movies wasn't a high priority in the future.

"Work faster!" Sarah ordered as she quickly dismissed the obviously delusional kid's ramblings. How could he even suggest something as ridiculous as surgically swapping faces? This was what came from working with amateurs, she supposed. _'Tell a civilian that the world's going to end and it's only a matter of time before their brains turn to mush and they start to lose their grip on reality.'_

The family members were about to scurry back to their rooms and gather a few possessions and weapons as Jason, sounding slightly exasperated, cried, "Stop! Won't you at least hear me out? We'll do it without surgery. We'll just use plaster to make molds of my face and John's. Then we use latex to make a mask that's looks like John's face on the outside."

"That sounds like a tight plan." Cameron declared. She pirouetted across the living room and went to where Jason stood. He held some shopping bags. Her eyes went out of focus and she looked lost for a fraction of a second. "Do you realize that you are volunteering to face off against another Terminator?"

Jason replied, "I've been accused of a lot of things in my life, but having good judgment was never one of them." Cameron cocked her head to the side. If anything she looked truly confused now.

Jason smiled. "That was a joke."

Cameron said, "Oh, thank you for explaining." She righted her head and continued, "I will help you with the deception." Then she reached out with one hand to gently stroke the lines of Jason's face. "You two do have remarkably similar facial structures," Cameron declared with all the authority of an art expert examining some new sculpture. "The plan should prove successful... at least, for a while."

Derek stood up from where he was packing his things next to the couch, and Sarah emerged from her room. Neither one of them cared too much for the terminator, but both recognized how fanatical she was about her prime objective to protect John and knew that she would never rubber stamp a plan like Jason's unless she was virtually positive that following through with it could cause no harm to her charge. The two adults looked at each other then at John. Sarah held up her hands. "You guys can try it. But I'm still going to finish packing. If your plan doesn't work we're going to want to be able to make a fast getaway."

"And I'll get the explosives ready." Derek walked over to the kitchen and started pulling out household cleaners from under the sink.

Cameron looked at John and silently curled a finger at him. He walked over to where she stood next to the refrigerator. She positioned both John and Jason so that they blocked Derek's view then grabbed some Diet Cokes out of the fridge as Derek looked over.

"Great. Thanks." John's response sounded a little forced.

"Mmmm. Diet Coke is my favorite." Jason sounded genuine. Diet Coke actually was his favorite soda: light, crisp, refreshing. Not heavy or syrupy.

He felt a little surprised that Cameron gave him a drink. He was here offering to pose as John and risk his life fighting a cold, calculating machine that would kill him as soon as look at him, if that furthered its objectives. Thirst wasn't really on Jason's mind right then, and he wouldn't have thought it to be on hers either.

Derek looked over at the gaggle of kids at the fridge and dismissed them as he saw the boys sipping sodas. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and walked over to the laundry closet.

It was then that John realized Cameron had offered them the sodas simply to distract Derek.

Cameron squatted down and pulled open the meat drawer. Out came a zip lock bag that made John want to gag. Jason, however, eyed it curiously. It was full of slices of something that looked like skin on the outside and meat on the inside.

The fembot placed one finger next to her lips and tried to look conspiratorial. The zip lock bag dropped into Jason's Wal-Mart bag, and Cameron grabbed both boys by their collars.

* * *

Out in the detached garage where 'Carter' had disintegrated in the 2500 degree fires of Thermite, just hours ago, John spoke first. "What is it with you?" He sounded angry. He leaned against the work bench and sullenly crossed arms that were covered in thermal underwear and flannel. "First you saved Vick's chip. Now you've saved his synthetic flesh."

Cameron replied, "And it's a good thing, too. Latex would only work from a distance. This will pass, even up close."

John wagged his head, unconvinced.

Jason looked fascinated as he lifted the zip lock bag and examined its contents. "What is this stuff?"

Cameron answered, "Synthetic living flesh from a T-888. The T-888s were the first models with mimetic technology. They had expandable arms, legs, and spines as well as hips and chest cavities that could be reshaped."

"Wait, Synthetic flesh? As in single organ cloning technology? Awesome!" Jason exclaimed with almost child-like enthusiasm before the enraptured scientist within him took a back seat to his more practical side. "But what does it have to do with my posing as John?" Jason then asked as Cameron reached for the zip lock bag and he handed it back to her.

Cameron pushed up her arm warmers and opened the bag as she explained in monotone. "This synthetic flesh is transformable. Infuse it with skin cells from John's face and it will become John's face."

"Transformable flesh; it will become John's face?" Jason shook his head in an amused fashion and failed to contain a slight chuckle. "Hey, guys, we're so pulling a Demon's Run!"

Cameron and John just stared at their new ally with puzzled expressions.

"Demon's Run... from Doctor Who?" Jason prompted, but could tell from the other two's blank faces that they had no idea what he was talking about. "Man, don't you guys watch anything? Doctor Who: the nine-hundred year old Time Lord with the blue police box. He travels through time with human companions, doing his best to insure that everything goes right whenever time is 'in flux', and..." Jason stopped and sighed as he realized that his explanation wasn't jogging any memories. "In Demon's Run, a 'bad guy' tricked the doctor with a living flesh replica of the person he was trying to rescue. The flesh was synthetic and 'transformable'; just like this stuff."

"Thank you for explaining," Cameron replied once again.

"Ah," John responded unenthusiastically as he stared at the synthetic flesh in Cameron's hand. He seemed somewhat curious now, curious enough to relent for a moment as Cameron approached with pocket knife, and he let her gently scrape some skin from his neck, cheeks, eyebrows, and scalp.

Then the girl cut off a section of the synthetic flesh. Kneading it with her hands, she worked in the cell samples from John's face and right before their eyes, the flesh began to transform. Soon they could make out John's chin, cheeks, and forehead. Cameron continued working the artificial flesh with her very real looking fingers.

After a few minutes of staring, with his own face displaying a look of utter fascination, Jason extended a hand to take a nearly perfect copy of John's face. The skin now looked absolutely real. All it was missing was hair.

"Now we just make a mold of Jason's face to wrap it around." Cameron explained. "Keep it moist and cool over night, and it should grow hair, eyebrows and facial stubble by the morning. Don't try to shave it. You might cut through it in some places."

Jason just stared at Cameron for a moment. He found the female android captivating, odd, and _tiny_ bit creepy. In fact in that regard she reminded him somewhat of an older strawberry blonde that he had some years earlier and formed a strong friendship with.

* * *

Hey, Metropolis Kid here. Sorry this new chapter's taken so long. I've been busy with a number of family things, as well as some hefty school assignments, and that's slowed my re-editing down. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this second chapter written Chris St. Thomas.

Have a good day, and God bless.


	8. Chapter 8: Showdown

**Showdown**

Jason White rode his bike to school. Normally, this year, he would've walked or run. For years before this, all the way back to kindergarten in fact, his mother had insisted that he be driven to school. Even after his speed powers started to manifest themselves, she or his Dad had continued to drive him. Usually it was his dad who drove him, and that had been a saving grace to the whole endeavor. Other students looked upon him with respect or jealousy that he got that daily time with his Dad. But today he needed the bike for dealing with Cromartie, or whatever other terminator(s) might show up. And so, he road.

Jason still felt a little guilty for leaving the house early with his mother still upset at him. He'd would've preferred to have eaten breakfast with her and tried, once more, to set her mind at ease regarding his decision to help the Connors. He would've liked the chance to convince her that he wasn't really in danger, that he was more than capable of handling the Pandora's box he was opening up. But the schedule wouldn't allow it, not if he was to ride his bike to school instead of running there at super speeds. And he needed the bike to lend credibility to his getaway.

But maybe it was for the best. After all, he wasn't really sure he could handle this situation without having to risk his life, and his mom had an infamously honed 'B.S.' detector. True, he'd already bested one terminator. But that victory was only won by the skin of his teeth, and this Cromartie was a newer series model. Maybe he was biting off more than he could chew?

Cameron had shown him some of the weak points of the T-888, and they all hoped that that intel, combined with Jason's greater speed, would be enough to take down Cromartie. But the truth was even Cameron, who'd gauged the teen of steel's capabilities and run virtual simulations of battles between him and a T-888, wasn't a hundred percent sure her tips would be enough. Jason had won three out of five mock matches. But Cromartie had crushed him in one, and the remaining match had resulted in a draw, with both contestants giving it their all... and perishing in the process - just as had happened in the battle between Jason's father and the monster Doomsday.

As the kid continued peddling to school, he reflected upon the crazy situation he had gotten himself into. Absently, he wondered what Helena, his best friend back East, would say about this mess. She'd probably smack him upside the head and call him an idiot for risking his life for a bunch of criminals - one of whom once topped the FBI's most wanted list - instead of turning them over to the authorities. Either that, or she'd insist on coming along as backup. Helena always had been a difficult one to predict.

* * *

It was the end of first period, and as John walked out of Mr. St. Thomas's Algebra 1 classroom he saw Jason coming out of Mrs. Tien's just down the hall way. Cameron walked up to both of them. "Cromartie is here, posing as Agent Kester. We have to go," she informed as she took John by the arm.

Cameron led the two boys into a janitor's closest that she'd preselected for just this occasion.

"You guys go after Sarkassian." Jason started taking off his shirt. "I'll handle Cromartie."

John caught on that if Jason was to pose as him he would have to be wearing the same clothes and shrugged out of his unbuttoned collared shirt. Then he removed his old Pearl Jam concert shirt. His hand paused as it reached the button on his faded Levi's jeans. Suddenly he was very aware of Cameron standing beside him.

"John, is everything okay? I'm detecting a sharp spike in your body temperature and heart rate. Are you feeling ill?" Cameron inquired obliviously.

"I- No. I'm fine," John lied. _'Okay, get a grip. It's only your pants, not like she hasn't seen more before,'_ he mentally chided himself as he began to undo the button. Even still he knew that this wasn't quite the same. Last time it had all happened so fast. The time jump had stripped the three of them - him, Cameron, and his mother - in the blink of an eye and dropped them in the middle of the highway. They had no time to think about modesty, only survival. But this time they were hidden away, out of sight and Cameron was staring directly at him... apparently even - quite literally - analyzing his body.

"I'm also detecting a slight tremor in your voice and a moderate increase in perspiration levels. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine."

"In that case, do you require assistance?"

"What? No!"

"Are you sure? Jason has already finis-"

"Cam, please! Just... just give me a little breathing room, would you?"

Cameron paused for a second and looked unsure. But her scans revealed that John's 'fluctuations' were only becoming more pronounced as she continued to question him, so she decided it was best to grant his request for 'breathing room'. "As you wish," she replied and then stepped three feet backwards. "Is this sufficient breathing room?" Cameron inquired.

"Ah, yeah, Cam," John responded realizing that she'd taken his last statement more literally than intended. "That's fine," he continued as he slid out of his faded jeans.

The two boys finished their clothes swap, and never had John thought he'd be so eager to slip into a pair of black jeans and a green lantern T-shirt. Then it came time for the mask, and both boys were surprised by how well it fit. To John it was like looking in a mirror. "It's amazing, that mask might even fool my own mother," John commented.

"Yeah, but will it fool a terminator?" Jason asked.

"Having second thoughts? This was your plan after all, remember?"

"No second thoughts," Jason responded. "Just a little worried after seeing Cameron's scanning capabilities in action. Body temp, perspiration levels, voice tremors? I just wasn't expecting all of that." Jason turned from John to Cameron. "Any last minute advice on how to fool those systems?"

"The mask and clothing should be sufficient, at least from a distance. I would advise against talking while Cromartie is around though. If he runs your voice through a pattern analyzer - which he will - he's going to know something's off. Though, without any better leads, he may still go after you."

"Alright, no talking while undercover. Got it. And thanks," Jason replied as Cameron grabbed John by the arm again and moved the two of them to the back of the closet. "I'll head to your next class. Hopefully that'll be Cromartie's next stop."

"Good. We'll wait ten minutes and then sneak out the back," Cameron replied as Jason's hand went for the door knob. The latter nodded.

"And, Jason... good luck." John cut in.

Jason hid his own doubts behind a half smile. "Ah, come on. I'm Superman's kid. If I can't handle one cybernetic assassin from the future, then we're all in serious trouble the next time Bizzaro turns up... or Lex launches another 'land development' plan," the teen jokingly reassured before heading back into the hallway.

John and Cameron waited precisely ten minutes, the latter's internal chronometer ticking away each second until it was time to emerge. Then they too headed out of the closest, finding the halls all but abandoned as the second period had already begun. The two went for the nearest exit.

A compact powerfully built man - with short, dark hair, laugh lines around his eyes, and a face that was both kind and serious - walked around the corner in front of them. He carried a black kit bag, and wore a dark uniform with a paramedic's badge.

"Charlie, hi," John greeted.

Cameron looked Charlie up and down. Her eyes narrowed as she computed probabilities. Then she continued leading John towards the door. Her only words were, "We have to go. Now."

"Don't go out that door," Charlie warned as he pointed them towards the stairs instead. "There's an FBI agent out there talking with an Assistant Principal."

"What does he look like?"

"He's black, well spoken with very little hair and a goatee. He's wearing a gray suit with a good shirt, but no tie. Name is James Ellison."

"He's the one who was after my mom, back in 97."

"John is sick. Can you help him?"

"Yeah, my ambulance is up stairs on the far end of the building, near the second floor entrance. I'll meet you guys out there in a few minutes."

* * *

As John and Cameron were fleeing the school and Jason was preparing for his big match against the T-888, his parents were busily engaged in a battle of their own. Only there's was to be fought with words, not fists, and they weren't squaring off against a cold, heartless machine, but rather against each other.

Newspaper Editor Richard White's morning assignment meeting had been going fine, and his mind had already begun to shift to his next task of the day as he concluded the meeting and most of the reporters in the room started moving towards the elevators. That was of course until, everyone else had left the room and Lois decided that she could safely challenge the assignment her husband had given her, without upsetting his authority with the other reporters.

"Investigating misuse of state gasoline tax monies in LA County for projects other than road work is not a fit assignment. You're wasting my talent. I want the school shooting," Richard's wife began, forgoing any small talk and driving straight into the heart of the matter.

"The school shooting is an emotional piece. It's best handled by someone who's logged more time in town, someone who knows the history better and has a deeper connection to the area."

"Bullshit. You're holding me back from a juicy assignment, because you! you! You!"

"Because it involves our son," Richard cut in calmly, siphoning off a little of his wife's rising steam. "And worse, it involves a cover-up our son in entangled in. How can I assign you without compromising your journalistic integrity and, by extension, the integrity of this entire paper?"

And, to Richard's surprise, his wife's temper actually defused entirely and her demeanor shifted from offended to contemplative. "I see your point. But what if you assign someone else and they find out something that puts us all in danger?"

Richard turned away from his wife and stared out the office window for a few seconds. He sighed. "I suppose this is why the paper frowns on inter office relationships in the first place. Next to impossible to put the paper's interests - or even your own integrity - first when it brushes up against the interests of those you care for." The husband hesitated another minute as his mind grouped for a solution that would protect his family without compromising his principles.

"Alright, we'll split the difference. I'll give you the school shooting, but I'll assign you a partner - a double blind to protect the integrity of the piece."

"Who'd you have in mind?" Lois asked guardedly. Her history with partners was less than stellar. In fact only her and Clark and her and Jimmie had ever managed to 'click'. The rest of her partnering attempts had all been disastrous.

"Rayner."

"What? Why? Rayner's a photographer - and a part-time photographer at that," Lois challenged.

"I served with Rayner. Believe me, he knows his way around a report."

"There's a big difference between an air force report and a newspaper article," Lois replied skeptically.

"He might not have the most impressive prose, but you can punch that up if need be. He'll get the details right... well, as right as anyone else not 'in the know'. And that'll preserve the paper's integrity. Besides he's tough as nails He was top graduate in our class at Survival and Evasion school. If there's anything still lurking at that school, he'll bring you both back alive."

"I don't need a chaperone," Lois responded. "I need a reporter. I'll take Jack. His article on police corruption was nominated for a Pulitzer last year."

"Lois, we lost your cousin Chloe back on Sept 11. Jason lost his father, Clark, last month. Maybe you don't think you need a chaperone, but let's remember your predisposition for getting yourself into danger... And Clark's not here to save you if something goes wrong."

"I was able to get along just fine as a reporter for over a decade before he showed up, and I survived his five year sabbatical in space just fine too, thank you very much!" Lois snapped back defensively. "I'm not going to deny that things were... easier with him around, but I can look after myself. I'll just be more cautious in my investigation, not like I haven't done it before."

"Lois, you're looking into something that nearly managed to get the best of our son. Think what it could do to you. Honey, please, think of our son. There's already been more than enough tragedy in this family, how's he going to handle it if he loses his mother scarcely a month after his father."

"Damn it, Richard, that isn't fair!"

"Life isn't fair, Lois. And death certainly isn't."

Lois scowled, but nodded in acceptance. "Fine, I'll take Rayner."

* * *

Jason, in his disguise as John, had finished out the latter's school day without incident, though he'd done so on autopilot. Jason had spent the time constantly expecting Cromartie to pop into the classroom and launch his assault. Tactics, escape routes and ways to minimize civilian endangerment had all but taken over the lad's mind as all he could do was sit and wait. It had been exhausting, despite the fact that his enemy had never shown, and Jason was left with an odd mixture of pity and respect for the teen who's life he was trying on, for he realized that this was how John Connor spent every single moment of every day of his life.

Finally the last bell rang and it came time for Jason to leave the school. He'd taken a crow bar from Auto Shop class to 'steal' his own bike. After all, if Cromartie was watching, it wouldn't do to let him see 'John Connor' open the combination on Jason White's bike.

Riding nervously back towards the Connors' house, Jason still couldn't see anything amiss, but he did hear something that put him even more on edge. Trailing a short distance away, mixed into the sea of foot falls, car engines and the heart beats of those behind them, existed an abnormality: a car with no driver... well, no _human_ driver anyway. For rather than the sound of the vehicle's engine mixing with the rhythmic beating of a heart, Jason heard two separate and distinct sets of whirring mechanical noises emanating from the machine. A terminator was following him, and slowly inching closer with each passing second.

A few blocks away from the school, Cromartie made its move. The terminator tried to run 'John' over with its car, jumping the curb into the parking lot of a pawn shop, but lightning quick reflexes enabled its target to dodge around a light post and down a narrow alley next to a boarded up convenience store. The alley proved to be too narrow, and the Crown Victoria the machine ground to a halt.

Undeterred, the Terminator rammed its left hand through the roof of the car, tearing the synthetic flesh away from its knuckles, bloodying the sleeve of its plain white dress shirt, and ripping the seams of its black suit coat. Ignoring the physical damage and the fashion emergency, it quickly ripped the roof of the car open from the inside. It leapt out of the passenger compartment, drawing two Sig-Sauer 9mm semi-automatic pistols as it landed on the hood. It hoped down from the mangled hood to sprint faster than a world champion athlete toward the end of the alley way and the open field beyond.

However, what looked like an open field turned out to be the public utility easement, where high tension electric wires ran suspended from giant, metal towers. Cromartie made this observation while it lunged and tumbled through the air. Then, it wondered how 'John' - popping out from behind a metal dumpster - had managed to trip it and further accelerate its speed as it smashed into the base of the nearest electric utility tower. One side of the tower crumpled under the impact of a 450 lb terminator moving at 123 miles per hour, and several high tension wire connectors weakened. None snapped... yet.

"All right, tin can! Let's settle this, right now!" the face behind John's mask screamed, Jason knowing that after his last stunt his cover was pretty well blown anyway, and charged towards the terminator. The teen howled and ran faster than any normal human could.

By the time the terminator had run internal diagnostics and stood up, its adversary had already crossed three quarters of the 100 meters that separated the back of the businesses from the power lines. The machine took aim with its one remaining Sig-Sauer, the other having been lost during the trip.

Time seemed to slow down for Jason as he sped up his perceptions, the way he would if he were running at the speed of sound. The terminator slowly pointed its weapon. It pulled the trigger like a turtle. Jason dove for the ground as a full clip of 9mm ammo roared by over his head and thought, '_Neo, eat your heart out'._

Above the brawl, a single high tension wire snapped, and while the wire fell, the machine dropped the clip out of its weapon. Jason rolled up off the ground and accelerated toward the cyborg just as Cromartie finished locking another clip in place.

Jason struck the terminator in a flying tackle at close to 500 miles per hour, then put all his force into the unit's left arm, bending it up to the correct angle and wrenching it off. The second Sig-Sauer flew away.

While the machine processed the damage done to it and its difference engine of a mind ground through all the possibilities of how it could be losing in a close quarters combat, its adversary ripped the synthetic flesh away from the wrist of the arm he's holding.

At break-neck speed, the lad grabbed the fallen electrical wire and endured the 10,000 Volts coursing through his body as he wrapped it around the exposed coltan 'bones'. Then he proceeded to smack Cromartie squarely in the chest with the electrified ball joint in the shoulder of its arm. A wicked popping sound came from within the machine's chest as its artificial skin quite literally sizzled under the assault of the electric current.

Jason wound up for another swing and managed to whack the terminator upside the head, but to his surprise the impact hurt... _really_ hurt. And the machine's cranium failed to yield. Suddenly Jason felt weak, weaker than he had in years. Suddenly he felt like all the strength, speed, and energy was pouring out of him, like some malevolent phantom was soaking it up like a sponge.

Cromartie regained the advantage as his opponent yelped and dropped the electrified arm as if feeling the pain of the current for the first time. The machine wrapped a leg around its enemy and wound up its right arm then delivered a straight right that would have decapitated a heavyweight, champion boxer.

The teen's face split open satisfyingly, but another face was revealed beneath. And finally the equation in Cromartie's head balanced out as it saw a familiar spit-curl beneath the mask of John Connor's features. The terminator didn't know the name of the young man posing as its target, but only one other inhabitant of the planet Earth ever had a spit curl _that_ distinctive: Kal-El of Krypton... Superman.

The terminator ripped the false face off, revealing the true one underneath. "You are revealed, Son of Kal-El! As your father was slain by the Monster, so shall I slay you." The terminator stood and reached into the scorched and charred flesh of its chest. It pulled out something that looked like a pistol's ammunition clip. The object glowed green at the end.

"This unit was originally sent back to the time when your father was alive, so it was equipped with Kryptonite powercells. This one ruptured when you assaulted me with my electrified arm." The terminator held the damaged powercell in its teeth as it moved to reclaim its lost arm. it picked the appendage up and held it in the cleft between its chin and kneck, then walked back over to the last Scion of Krypton.

It hefted the boy - it's vice like grip cracking two of his ribs in the process - and dropped him into the nearest dumpster. Then it spit the damaged powercell in after him. "Time to die, Superboy," Cromartie proclaimed, knowing that the kryptonite would've already permeated the Kryptonian's cells to such an extent that he'd be nearly paralyzed and unable to climb out of the death trap. Then, with a final sneer, the machine turned and ran away at its top speed.

But the terminator had miscalculated in one matter. For though battered, bruised and exhausted, Jason still had the use of his muscles. They pained him each time he strained them to pull himself further out of the pit of filth he was currently buried in, but they did respond to his commands. And though the lad felt weak, drained, and barely alive after the wallop of a blow the machine had lasted landed on him, he did not feel sick. Nor was his broken body taking on the tell tale glow of kryptonite poisoning. He was weak, tired, barely conscious... but the kryptonite radiation had - for some reason - stopped short of immobilizing him.

Perhaps it was due to that fact that he was only half human. Jason knew how kryptonite worked. The radiation it emitted was tuned to the exact opposite frequency as that of Earth's yellow sun, and deadly to Kryptonians. Exposure to it pushed out the healthy, solar energy stored in their cells, replacing it with a toxic form that slowly poisoned them. But Jason was only half Kryptonian, and kryptonite (as far as anyone knew) had no discernable effects on human beings. Perhaps it had depleted his solar reserves just as it would've done to his father, but the radiation that now filled his cells wasn't toxic to him. Perhaps he'd inherited his mother's resistance to its poisoning effects and all it had managed to do was rob him of the superhuman abilities that he'd inherited from his father, to turn him mortal.

Through pain greater than Jason could remember ever feeling in his life, the lad finally managed to pull himself out of the dumpster and drop to the ground below. He struggled to his feet, and shuffled away as fast as he could, one hand holding the side where the machine had cracked two of his ribs. Jason just barely managed to make it out of the public utility easement just as the kryptonite powercell reached critical mass and detonated in a blinding green-white flash and an ear-splitting crack.

The blast wave shattered the dumpster and sent bits of metal shrapnel flying through the area. However, the structure still managed to direct most of the blast's force upwards, and the building now between Jason and the explosion shielded him from the deadly debris.

Still holding his ribs with one hand, Jason used the other to pull out his cell phone but found it fried by the EMP from the blast of the powercell. He looked around, his vision tinted red by the pain in his head and side, and saw stalled cars in the street and people looking puzzled at their digital devices.

Then, no longer able to endure the pain, Jason fell. As his consciousness began to slip from his mind, and his vision faded from red to black. He heard the sound of an antique Chevy drive up. A door opened, and voice the teen doesn't recognize said, "Come with me if you want to live." Hands - far more gentle than Cromartie's metal talons - picked him up. And then the lad slipped entirely from the conscious realm.

* * *

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St Thomas.

*This chapter brought to you by Chris St Thomas and Metropolis Kid, with assistance provide by Dragonlots.


	9. Chapter 9: No Comment

**Chapter 9: No Comment**

J'onn J'onzz of Mars had adopted an new human persona as Thom Jones, part-timer paramedic with Los Angeles Fire-Rescue service. He had thought it might be difficult to watch over the Son of Kal-El after Lois and Richard had moved to Los Angeles and Jason had started fighting sinister machines that looked human on the outside. But when the Martian observed Paramedic Charley Dixon coming to the aid of the human child John Connor, who appeared to be the target of the sinister machines, J'onn saw the opportunity to create Thom Jones and work together with Charley. Doing so had required a little fudging of the Martian's personal code since creating the persona had meant implanting a few faux memories in the minds of his new co-workers - Charley in particular - and establishing some subconscious trust bonds to ensure he was kept in the loop on any future developments regarding his charge.

J'onn would not fight Jason's battles for him, but the Martian would give the Last Scion of the House of El every opportunity to succeed. Right now that meant restocking the supplies in Charley Dixon's ambulance and adding anti-radiation medications and other Hazardous Materials (HAZMAT) handling protocols, while Charley wrote up the reports on the morning's rescue activities.

Charley sat at a field desk writing up his reports in the garage of a fire station a few miles away from John's high school. He was working with a recent partner who had transferred in about a month ago. For a part-timer, this guy really knew his stuff: clinical skills were top notch and he even liked to restock the ambulance. If Jones ever wanted to move up to full time with Los Angeles Fire-Rescue, Charley would certainly write a favorable recommendation.

While he worked thru the reports, he mused on his day. There had been some routine forgettable calls: The ones where the paperwork took as much time as the call; not the sort to be discussed over beers after end of watch. So far, today had brought none of the really dramatic ones, ones to be talked about for weeks: multicar crashes on the freeways and huge fires. But there was one of the special category all its own: calls involving John, Sarah and Agent Ellsion. Those would be written up like forgettable calls and never talked about with anyone other than John and Sarah, except possibly for Jones. Charley found himself really trusting this new guy for some reason.

Earlier today, Charley had gotten John and the Very Scary Robot Girl away from the school and given them a chance to make it back to their house and go after some guy named Sarkassian. Apparently Sarkassian was some kind of mob figure who acquired a chess playing AI. Sarah thought it might be the seed that would grow into Skynet. Charley was not completely in that part of Sarah's life yet. Nor did he feel sure that he wanted to be. For him, the jury was still out. In fact, he wouldn't have believed what the Connors had gotten tangled up in, if he hadn't seen it for himself.

He'd patched John's uncle back together a few weeks ago, after the latter had suffered a gunshot wound. Then Charley had gone back to their house in street clothes, after end of watch, to check on him.

That was when he had seen IT. The body bag IT was in must have weighed over 200 pounds, yet Cameron carried IT over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

Outside in the detached garage, she laid IT out in a foot high rectangle of concrete blocks and removed the bag. IT looked like a corpse from a distance but when Charley peaked over Cameron's shoulder, he saw the missing hand with shiny metal rods where the radius and ulna bones should have been and control wires in place of tendons. IT had some skin peeled away from its face and underneath was not bone: three guesses but the paramedic didn't need two. It was more metal.

After checking Derrek's blood pressure and other vitals and talking with Sarah, Charley returned to the detached garage. He saw Cameron pouring powder into the concrete block rectangle where IT had laid before. Now IT looked down right freaky. Stripped of IT's outer human appearance it looked decidedly menacing. Charley saw the metal skeletal frame that mimicked a human's and the servos and pistons that replaced the muscles. The amount of armor and redundant systems inside IT told Charley that IT was built for combat. As an honorably discharged former Marine, he would know.

The paramedic reflected that something like that could be on some military engineer's design terminal somewhere, but nothing like that could be built today. The individual parts, yes; but the whole thing constructed and walking around and passing for human? No. Not possible. Not today. So where did it come from?

As crazy as it sounded, it had to come from the future. Occam's Razor: 'when you eliminate the impossible, the simplest explanation that fits the facts is probably right'.

That night in the detached garage, Cameron had told Charley that inside she was a lot like that thing. She lit a flare and dropped it into the rectangle of concrete blocks and the powder burst into flames so hot that even she had to leave the garage. It looked like the fires of hell consuming a metal demon.

Sometime, Charley would have to figure out how to tell his wife about all of this, sometime soon. It was starting to come between them. He had to decide where he stood first. For now, he finished up the paperwork on a call and pondered the last thing John said before he took off with his Machine girl. "A friend of ours will need some help this afternoon. Probably not very far from the school. It will be obvious. You don't want to be close by when it goes down, but be able to get there fast, okay?"

Charley was roughly jerked from his memories by an ear splitting crack off to the northwest. Looking out through the open garage of the fire house, he saw a green tinted gas cloud expanding into the sky. _'Obvious much?'_ the paramedic thought. No doubt that would be John's friend.

He overheard Jones on the radio from the cab of the ambulance. Charley and Jones were out of their assigned area and Jones was talking dispatch into letting them take the call for the explosion.

Dixon crossed the i's and doted the t's, knowing that his supervisors would live with it and threw the paperwork into his rescue bag. He stowed the field desk in the back of the ambulance and climbed into the cab. Jones put on lights and siren and together they raced to the scene.

As they got closer, Charlie had to maneuver around several stalled cars in the street. He noticed people standing outside half the shops and most of them were looking at their cell phones like they had all gone haywire.

"There was a minor electromagnetic pulse here." Jones observed.

Charley wondered, "Could it have been terrorists with some kind of small nuke?" _'Or the power core of a Terminator?' _he added, he believed safely within his own mind.

"Look at that kid stumbling out from the narrow alley!" Jones called.

Charley realized that the kid must have been John's friend and absently wondered if anyone John knew ever had a normal day. Aloud he commented, "Looks like someone tried to jam a wide car into that narrow alleyway."

Jones gawked, "Dude, do you see the roof of that Crown Vic that's wedged into the alley?"

The car's roof looked like something ripped it open from the inside. And even from this distance Charley could see that the kid was bloodied and holding his side, and Charlie guessed that was John's friend. The paramedic wondered what he was getting himself into.

The team of two then exchanged glances of silent communication and as Charley parked the ambulance, his partner jumped in back, gathering the radiation sickness kit together and the Hazmat suits. Charley readied a gurney and the portable defibrillator in case they had to restart the kid's heart. "

"Do you know what that is there in the alley?" Jones asked as he passed a suit to Charlie.

Charlie began to don the HAZMAT suit. "A car that didn't fit?"

"It's an SEP. Someone Else's Problem."

Charley and Jones shared a chuckle at that. Sometimes laughter was all that kept paramedics sane.

Out the window, Charley saw the kid stumble, fall to one knee and puke all over the ground.

The paramedics climbed out the back of the ambulance wearing their Hazmat suits and carrying a gurney. "Come with me if you want to live." Charlie told the kid.

Jones looked at him with a huge question mark in his expression. How could Charley tell him that what he'd just said was like a challenge and password with the Connors and their allies? He couldn't. So he just picked up a cylinder of decontamination solution and sprayed the kid down.

The medics lifted the kid up onto the gurney so they could get him into the bus. He weighed more than he appeared to. Charley wondered if this was due a higher molecular density or if this kid was another bot, like Cameron. The kid gagged and dry heaved. That answered the question. Who would design a bot with a reflex action like that? Charlie started an IV of saline and with anti-radiation meds in the kid's left arm while Jones treated the burns.

The kid mumbled something about Amazons and sunlight.

Jones pluged his cell phone into a jack in the suit. "I'm calling the Amazon Consulate in Los Angeles. Find the patient's ID."

Charley checked the patient's pockets and produceed a school ID that said Jason White. The name meant nothing to Charley. He showed the ID to Jones. Charley noticed Jones's eyes narrowed slightly as though the name confirmed something. _'What does this guy know?' _Charley wondered.

Jones droped the kid's name and told the Consulate something about an electrical substation explosion and radiation exposure. He gave their location and turned to Charley, "They want us to wait here."

Charlie elevated Jason's feet and grabed a blanket for him.

Both Paramedics removed their Hazmat suits.

A roaring whine sounded over the ambulance. Charley looked out the back of the bus. "There's nothing up there. What's going on?"

"Amazon invisible aircraft." Jones said as he climbed out the back to get a look himself.

Charley nodded as if that explained everything.

Both paramedics stared up at the place in the sky where the whine and the hard down draft of hot air were coming from. A gorgeous young woman, dressed in what looked like Ancient Greco-Roman battle armor climbed up out of ...nothing, an invisible cockpit? She stood on air. She didn't look Mediterranean and somehow that surprised Charley. The air shimmered and the babe was revealed to be standing on the wing of a gray jet airplane hovering there like a Harrier Jump Jet.

The airplane touched down in the parking lot next to the paramedics. All three of them struggled to get the kid in there and away they fly.

Charley and his partner looked at each other again. "S.E.P." Jones said.

"Wonder Woman, dude! That was Wonder Woman!" Charley cheered. Maybe this thing with the Connors would be cool after all. Naaah. But he would probably be in for the ride anyway.

* * *

At the Scientific Investigation Division of LAPD, reporter Lois Lane and photojournalist Kyle Rayner walked up to an elevator. "Oh and we got some good quotes from the LA County Sheriffs Office." 'Mad Dog' Lane was hot on the trail and enjoying herself.

"All right, that's true, but we didn't actually learn anything new." Rayner switched the settings on his camera's flash from outdoor/daylight to indoors/electric light.

"Well all the good evidence should be here," Lane responded.

"That is what the Deputy told us at LACS."

After the elevator, they made their way to the controlled access counter for SID. There were two sets of doors next to a small window with an officer. "Hi there! I'm reporter Lois Lane with The LA Planet and this is Kyle Rayner." Lois introduced as she slid her press pass under the quarter inch gap in the window glass.

"Her _partner_ Kyle Rayner." Kyle added as his press pass to the lady's.

The uniformed officer examined the press passes then slid them back. "So, how can SID help the Planet today?" she asked through a microphone behind the glass.

Lois faked a smile. "We'd like to get a comment on the school shooting from yesterday."

"Most of the investigation, witness canvassing, and trauma counseling was done by the LA County Sheriffs," the door officer explained.

"We just came from there," Lois replied bruskly.

"Ma'am we understood there was some blood evidence. We were wondering if we could discuss it with the techs who did the analysis," Rayner added with a touch more kindness and respect than his partner seemed able to muster.

"Let me check," The door officer responded then keyed some codes into the terminal. The screen refreshed. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Rayner. We can't comment on that any longer."

"Why?"

"Special Agent James Ellison of the FBI just took custody of that evidence and became the lead investigator on the case." She looked away from the window to an area behind the doors, and out of Rayner and Lane's view. "In fact he's walking up to the entry control point from the inside. You can ask him when exits."

Lois fumed quietly. Kyle smiled. _'__Laugh, cry or get angry__,'_ He thought_. '__Laughter's always proved the most constructive for me.'_

The exit door buzzed open and a dapper African American gentleman, wearing a gray suit, backed out carrying a sealed cooler, presumably full of dry ice with blood samples, and an accordion folder full of file copies. "Agent Ellison, can you comment on the blood evidence obtained from yesterday's school shooting?" Lois Lane shoved her digital recorder in the agent's face.

Rayner, on the other hand, saw that the door was rather narrow for a man built like a running back and carrying as much 'kit' as the agent. So, Kyle held the door wide while moving his Press Pass from the collar of his vest, to one of its many pockets. "Can I give you a hand with those, Agent?"

"No, chain of custody, you understand. But thank you for holding the door." Ellison replied with a smile and genuine appreciation as he began to walk back towards the elevators.

Lois scurried and shoved her way past the agent in the narrow corridor. She thrust her recorder into the Agent's face again. "Agent Ellison, can you comment?"

Kyle quietly put his camera back in its case and folded the shoulder strap up to carry the case discretely in his hand.

"No comment. Just two minutes ago, I signed the chain of custody forms, Miss..." The G-man looked down at Lane's Press Pass.

"Lois Lane, Los Angeles Planet. The people have a right to know! What can you tell us about-"

The agent stopped in place. "Ms. Lane you are as dogged and determined as Sarah Connor was a decade ago."

Suddenly the color drained from Lois's face. Wasn't Sarah the name of the mother of that kid her son was trying to help?

"Why Ms. Lane, you look as though you've seen a ghost," Ellison continued pleasantly, just a hint of irony tingeing his tone. "What's happened?"

"No comment." Lois put a hand in front of her mouth and fell back a pace or two as Kyle moved up next to the Agent and they resumed the walk to the elevators.

"I've always wanted to see a reporter say that."

"So have I, Mr..."

"Kyle Rayner, sir. I'd shake your hand, except..." the painter, Air Force Reservist, and part-time reporter himself replied as he gestured to the load the Agent carried. The two shared a chuckle. "I'm an artist, sir, a painter. I seem to have taken the wrong flight of stairs; can you show me the way out?"

"Rayner! Yes." Ellison looked truly impressed, "I've seen your work in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and at Kennedy Space Center."

"That would be my Celestial collection. I wanted those for l'Ouvre in Paris, but they ended up in the Smithsonian." Rayner deadpanned. "There are worse places."

"They were visionary!" Ellison beamed. "Right this way, Mr. Rayner. I'll show you to the express elevator." The Agent led Rayner into the car. Lois tried to shove her way in, but the Agent stopped her. "Sorry, We're full."

As the elevator moved Rayner reached into a pocket and produced an ID wallet. "In addition to being a painter, I'm also the Chief Operations Officer of the 166th Tactical Fighter Wing." He showed the Agent his U. S. Air Force ID card and his Daily Planet News Group creds. "We fly F-15E models out of Edwards Air Force Base. I have a top secret clearance and I know the difference between a good headline and National Security."

"A Major holding down a Lieutenant Colonel's position. You must be good."

"Not to brag, but I'm the best there is." Rayner sucked in his cheeks slightly, to keep from laughing.

"Or at least you're the best in the 166th Wing."

"Seriously, Agent. What's up with the blood evidence?"

"It's not blood."

"What?"

"I glanced at the lab reports before I signed for the evidence. It looks like blood. It acts like blood. It contains plasma, platelets and white cells, but no hemoglobin and no red cells."

Rayner thought back to Biology 101 at the Air Force Academy. "Without red cells, how does it carry oxygen?"

"It has some kind of radically advanced synthetic oxygen carrier." The agent looked purposefully at the cooler in his arms. "I've seen samples under a microscope. They look like very tiny machines."

"Could it be nano-technology?"

"Yes, but it seems too advanced to be widespread use by criminal lowlifes."

"What do you mean by widespread?"

"This is the fifth sample in the last three weeks with this kind of anomaly. The Bureau recovered the last four and we kept it out of the press. We may not be able to do that with SID involved."

"If you let The Planet have it as an exclusive, I'll let you proof the copy."

The elevator doors opened, and the agent started to step out, then paused and turned back to the other man. "I have your word, Major Rayner?"

"Yes," Rayner said simply with a tight smile.

"Then there's a good chance we'll speak again, Major. Good day." The agent nodded then continued walking away.

"I guess this would be the part where the case starts to get dangerous," Rayner mumbles under his breath.

"Only if you don't tell me what you got, Mister." Lane pips in, a hint of menace in her voice. "Express elevator, my arse. I climbed the stairs faster than your 'Express Elevator'."

"So, Ms Lane, is it always like this when you work with the police?"

* * *

Jason awoke in the navigator's seat of an Amazon jet. Bright sunlight streamed in from above and below. He was still groggy and his eyes weren't focusing completely, but he saw a face peeking over the pilot's seat. Somehow she looked familiar. "You're not, Wonder Woman are you?" It seemed to take the lad forever to form the words.

"Stars, no! Only the Queen and the Crown Princess have ever carried that title." The woman replied as she extended her hand. "Cassiopeia. Captain of the Queen's Own Royal Bows and Swords ."

"Jashon," the kid managed to get out before passing into unconsciousness once more.

Jason awoke again sometime later, this time his eyes cooperated. His mind felt back in focus as well. As he looked around the interior of the aircraft, he realized, to his surprise, that he could see all the gages, dials, toggle switches and even a second set of flight controls. "Aren't Amazon jets supposed to be invisible?"

The lady to his left looked over with a subtle smile. "Ah, I see you're awake again. Good. How do you feel?" the pilot asked with what Jason recognized as an East Coast accent.

"Like I got run over by an Army Tank. How do I look?"

"Your wounds have closed up, and you have a bit more color to you. You seem to be healing pretty rapidly since getting into this sunlight. Fascinating, its effects on you seem quite similar to the effects of our purple ray. Tell me, how are your ribs? The paramedic said that you'd fractured at least two of them."

It was then that Jason remembered the shooting pain in his side and realized that it had vanished since his last bout of consciousness. He tentatively rubbed a hand over his rib cage and winced and sucked in a breath as he did so. "They're a little... 'soft' still, but I think they've started to mend."

"That's good," the lady responded with another slight smile. "And as for the plane, do you think you could drive a car with an invisible steering wheel, invisible clutch or invisible control gages?"

"No. I guess not."

"Same for us," the woman continued. "The outsides are invisible, but pilots have to be able to see the interior to fly them."

"So... advanced image filtering tech? The outer skin allows light to pass into the plane and at the same time records the image pattern being cast. Then the light is directed out the other side, but only after it's been manipulated to remove any trace of the interior and passengers."

The woman chuckled. "What? Too old to believe in magic, Kid?"

"No such thing as magic," Jason asserted. "Only Science we have yet to comprehend."

"So... not a very religious person, huh?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I can be quite religious at times. I merely subscribe to Johannes Kepler's view on things. To paraphrase, 'Science is merely the act of thinking God's thoughts after Him.' But whereas science leads to the discovery of the intricate mind of our Creator and the natural laws that govern all things, the term 'magic' is just used as an excuse used to avoid the research required for a full explanation."

Silence fell between the two; and as it did, Jason realized that, though it had not been his intention, what he'd just said could be considered quite rude. Here this Amazon was doing him a favor and helping him get the sunlight he needed to heal, and he'd basically just challenged the teachings of her people. He hadn't thought much while doing so, since he was use to such free exchanges around his 'Aunt' Diana. However, this was someone knew, and the lad suddenly realized he was likely making a pretty bad impression on the one helping him out.

Jason thought about apologizing, but as he considered what he knew of the Amazon culture the lad realized such an action would simply indicate that he didn't respect the woman next to him enough to trust her with his honest opinion. So he decided to switch the focus of their conversation instead and a try to reopen the dialogue. Remembering that the woman had extended her hand the last time he'd woken up but he'd passed out before he could shake it, Jason took the opportunity to correct this. "Glad to meet you Cassiopeia, and thanks for getting me into some serious sunlight." He extended his right hand with a grateful smile.

The Amazon looked over to her right once more and took the offered hand. "You are certainly most welcome, Son of Kal-El.

"Now. Strap yourself back in. We're close to bingo fuel, so we must make for the Consulate most directly."

* * *

Cassiopeia let Jason take a shower at the Consulate, unfortunately he had to continue to wear John's shirt and the jeans that were somewhat worse for wear, with sweat and blood stains. At least his face would look clean when he got home.

Lois couldn't bring herself to listen as he told his dad about the fight with the T-888, so she gave him a hug and went back to watch FOX-13 news at nine in her room. In the lead story, she saw an interview with a Paramedic team who responded to 'a mysterious melt down of a high tension electrical wire support structure.' She knew this was Jason's battle and switched the channel to CNN.

When the lad finally made it up to his room, to floop down on his bed, he'd almost forgotten part of his plan. Jason groaned as he got up and walked over to his computer. It wasn't a high end machine like the one John had, just an economy model from Wal~Mart. However, it was more than capable of performing the tasks its user required: typing up school reports, researching things online, and emailing his few friends.

It was the Email that Jason was interested in at that moment. He turned on his PC and double clicked on the Internet Explorer icon. The MSN homepage popped up, and Jason entered his hotmail account. He started a new message and selected "PoliceGirl117" as its recipient. It was two days before their regular, weekly, correspondence. But they'd been emailing each other since Jason was ten, and he knew that she checked her email each day before she went to bed and would get his message:

_"Hey, Jason here. Please come to LA asap. I need a favor. If at all possible, don't let your boss find out. Thanks..."_ Jason began, entering the details of his favor and enough background info to get his close friend up to speed.

* * *

Lex Luthor stood next to a cheap desk with an old rotary telephone and a few meaningless papers stacked on top of it. He looked toward the window, at an expansive view of downtown Metropolis and the waterfront. He rubbed the fingers of his left hand over his bald head. '_It's not the view from the CEO's Office in Luthor Corp Plaza. But then few views are,'_ the 'business man' reflected as he considered that at least he wasn't starring at a brick wall. Then the stickum holding the poster in front of the window came loose from the top right corner: No, not a brick wall at all, now he was looking at a concrete wall.

The man extended a hand to his assistant who deposited her chewing gum in it. He used the gum to tack the poster back up just as the land-line phone started ringing. Luthor sighed and picked up the handset. He listened, the answered, "Yes, this is Harry."

Luthor turned towards a book shelf with a few old business books and dusty law tombs, several dust bunnies and empty space. "Of course I'm still interested in the chess-playing machine. But you lose the 20 bonus and you bring it to Metropolis. Don't ever be late again."

The bald man drew himself up to his full height and felt the tension in his muscles as his ire started to rise. He abruptly cut the other party off, "I don't care if it was the SAS or Mossad broke into your HQ and stole your hard drives last night. If you can't handle the patrol of Fireside Scouts you just described to me, then you don't deserve to do business with me again, and there won't be a next time." He slammed the phone back into its cradle.

Luthor turned to face the room's other occupant. The slender blonde wore a chauffeur's cap, a black uniform shirt and a short skirt. She also had wonderful legs, but Luthor didn't pay them any mind. She popped her chewing gum. "You showed him, boss."

"Indeed. I'll teach that West Coast Armenian, Sarkassian, to trifle with Lex Luthor. Let's go Mercy."

The chauffeur pulled the cover off the phone jack and ripped the line out of the wall. "Trace that!"

And then the two headed out of the building and back to Lex's black Lincoln.

* * *

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid and Chris St Thomas.

* Chapter written by Chris St Thomas, reworked and edited by Metropolis Kid.


End file.
